An Opaque Mirror
by Freckles04
Summary: Kiann Surana, one of the Heroes of Ferelden, learns that even a solver of problems various and sundry can't fix everything, particularly when fate takes over. Sequel to Problems Various and Sundry.
1. The Golden City

_A/N: The world and characters of Dragon Age belong to BioWare, and I offer that company my deepest thanks for encouraging community creations._

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**The Golden City**

I, Kiann Surana--mage, Grey Warden Commander, solver of problems various and sundry--loved my life.

Except when I was called to attend stuffy events usually intended for Ferelden's nobility. Thankfully, I'd been able to hold off Queen Anora's requests, for the most part, by pleading the cause of fighting darkspawn, but with the darkspawn threat all but extinguished, that convenient excuse disappeared.

"Formal affairs drive me insane," Alistair moaned from behind me.

I blew out a frustrated breath as I stared at myself in the mirror. I ran my palms over my too-fine dress, then brushed a strand of russet hair off my shoulder. "Then why are we here? Can't we just tell Anora we're--we're sick, or something?"

"Both of us? At once? Yes, I'm sure she won't see through _that_, at all." My husband appeared in the mirror, towering over me. He wore a noble's outfit, which looked...odd. I rarely saw him in anything but his gleaming dragonbone plate, but I had to admit I liked how the colorful fabric stretched across his broad chest and shoulders. I swallowed, wondering suddenly if we couldn't be just a little late for the event.

"No. _No_." Alistair chuckled. "Don't give me that look. If we end up in bed, we'll never make it to the banquet, and that would be terrible form. Don't you remember the glare Eamon gave us last time?"

"And I should care about that because…" I retreated a few steps from the mirror, pressing myself against him, and arched my back. The curve of my bottom rubbed against him--_there_--and he groaned.

"Maker's breath, Kiann. That's not fair."

"I'm still waiting for a reason I should care about not attending the banquet," I prompted, rising on my tip-toes.

"Strangely enough, my thought processes have stalled for the moment." His hands moved to my waist and held me tight against him. "Um…because we're the guests of honor?"

I spun and leaped at him, wrapping my legs around his waist. Never had I been so thankful not to be wearing my armor. Smiling, I rose above him and nudged his lips with my own. "Then, they can't get started without us, can they?"

"If we show up late, everyone's going to _know_." Alistair groaned as we rubbed against each other, fitting together perfectly even through our clothing. "I'll have a stupid grin on my face, and your eyes will be sparking like they always do, afterwards."

"We're married," I reminded him. "It isn't scandalous to make love to your wife."

"It is when you're…supposed to be…" His voice trailed off as I nibbled on his ear. "What was I saying?"

"'I need you'?" I suggested.

He took my mouth then, a hard, frantic kiss that sent shockwaves sputtering through me. In moments, I found myself pressed against a wall, one of his hands braced over my shoulder, the other banded across the small of my back.

"I do need you," he whispered, moving to nuzzle my neck. "Always."

Warmth unfurled within me. Knowing that he felt that way, even after five years of marriage--my insides melted, turning me into mush. Absolute mush. I pressed kisses to his forehead and cheeks, his lips and nose.

"I love you." Breath shuddered in and out of my lungs. "By the Maker, I love you so much." I reached between us, under the waistband of his breeches and smallclothes, and he moaned at the contact of skin on skin.

"Forget the banquet," he growled. He shoved my skirts up above my thighs, and--

A knock thudded on the door. "Warden Commander?"

Alistair's hand stilled and I laid my forehead against his, my eyes closing. "Yes?" At least my voice was steady.

"Arl Eamon sent us to escort you to the banquet. He said he, uh, didn't want you to get lost." The puzzlement the guard felt was clear in his voice. The banquet was to be held in the Landsmeet chamber, and everyone in the sodding country knew I'd been there more than once.

My husband's shoulders shook and when he looked up at me, his eyes twinkled with amusement. "Eamon knows us better than I thought, it seems," he said softly.

"Damn it." Louder, I said to the guard, "Just a moment, please."

"Certainly, Commander."

"We should still…you know," I said, my eyes narrowing. "Just to make them wait and show them we won't be herded."

Alistair's eyes widened. "With a guard standing right outside? But…he'll hear."

"Maybe." I arched a brow. "It could be kind of exciting, don't you think?"

My templar smiled and kissed the tip of my nose. "You are a wicked, wicked woman." He pulled back from me with a sigh and set me gently on the ground again. "I would prefer to continue from this point without an audience. Later."

"Oh. Well, in that case…" I squirmed out of my smallclothes and dangled them in front of him, before dropping them to the floor. "Just so I'm prepared."

"Andraste's mercy," Alistair breathed. "You're going to…and we're going to eat dinner, and you're going to be…?" His breath was ragged. "Woman, I'm not wearing armor! This could be…rather embarrassing."

"That's what templar discipline is for, isn't it?" I trailed a finger along his chin and gave him a sultry smile.

"If the Grand Cleric knew what I was using my training for…"

I laughed and led him from the room.

###

"Ladies and gentlemen, the Heroes of Ferelden!"

Anora's voice rang clearly through the Landsmeet chamber, though it was quickly drowned by shouts and cheers and whistles as Alistair and I walked through the doors. I smiled and waved, familiar with the routine after five years of the same, and we marched down the red carpet to join the Queen before the throne.

Déjà vu swept through me as I remembered the last time I'd stood here with Anora and Alistair. My templar had gotten down on one knee and proposed, using his boon from the Queen to ask that we be married. I couldn't help the smile that stretched my lips at the memory.

"My friends, we are gathered to celebrate the fifth anniversary of the defeat of the Blight." Anora smiled broadly, encompassing us and the remainder of the gathered nobility in her gaze. "It is because of these good people that we are able to see each new dawn. They saved Ferelden--all of Thedas--and we thank them, once again, for their service."

Alistair and I bowed simultaneously, almost as if we'd rehearsed the motion. Cheers flowed around us.

"Commander, would you care to address the nobility of Ferelden?"

I hated this part. But I plastered a pleasant look on my face and nodded. "My lords and ladies," I began, thankful that five years of command had conditioned me to speak in front of a crowd without showing nervousness, "we have flourished since the Blight. We have proven, again, that Ferelden cannot be overwhelmed, whether by invading armies or creatures from the Black City itself. The Grey Wardens may have defeated the archdemon, but it is the people of Ferelden, the average farmer and merchant, the serving girls in the local taverns, the Banns and Arls and Teyrns, who have ensured that Ferelden recovered so thoroughly and quickly from the ravages of the Blight. The darkspawn are all but defeated, driven back into the depths of the Deep Roads. We continue to work tirelessly with the dwarven kingdom to ensure that one day, they will no longer be a threat." I let my gaze sweep over the gathered nobility, lingering on a random person now and again. "In peace, vigilance; in war, victory; in death, sacrifice. Such is the Grey Warden motto, and we continue to be ever vigilant in this time of peace."

I bowed as the crowd erupted again, applause bouncing off the stone and wood of the chamber's walls.

"Now, please." Anora swept her hands out. "Enjoy the feast!"

More applause, which dwindled as the nobles dispersed to find food and drink. The Queen turned back to Alistair and myself, and took my hands in hers. "It is good to see you again, Commander," she said, still smiling. "And you as well, Alistair."

"Thank you, your Majesty," he returned, inclining his head. I wondered if he noticed that he was always mentioned second, like an afterthought, by the Queen. I caught his eyes and saw the humor there, and I knew it hadn't escaped him. He simply didn't care.

"We're happy to be here," I added.

"It feels like it hasn't been five years," Anora said, walking down the steps leading to the floor of the hall. We followed close behind. "I can still see the scars, if I look closely enough."

"But you've accomplished a great deal," I said. "There is the new university, and very few buildings show any lingering evidence of the Siege."

"True." Anora nodded, acknowledging my observation. "And you have accomplished just as much. From the last report I received, there haven't been any darkspawn attacks for six months now. Is that correct?"

"It is, your Majesty. I believe we have seen the last of the creatures, on the surface, anyway, for some time."

"I hope," Alistair said under his breath.

"That is excellent news. Oh, I see Bann Alfstanna waving. If you'll excuse me?" With a smile, Anora departed, leaving Alistair and myself to mingle with the nobles.

"Can we escape yet?" I murmured in his ear. "I'm getting…a little chilly under my dress."

He groaned. "I'd just about stopped thinking about that. Thank you so much for reminding me."

"Anything for you, my love." I smiled wickedly.

"Alistair!" Arl Eamon marched up to his former ward and clapped him on the shoulder. "It's good to see you, lad. How is Amaranthine treating you?"

"Just fine, my lord," Alistair said, dipping his chin. "It's good to see you as well."

"Thank you for the arranging the escort for us, Eamon," I said, one eyebrow arched. "Goodness knows I haven't been to this room often enough to remember the way."

The older man laughed, his lips curving behind his massive grey beard. "I do recall the last state dinner you two were asked to attend and you appeared halfway through the meal, quite…disheveled."

"Yes, well…" Alistair ran a hand through his hair as color rose in his cheeks.

"It's the noble's outfit," I said. "I can't resist it. Armor is so much more difficult to take off, you see."

"Kiann!" A startled laugh burst out of my husband. "Maker's breath."

Eamon guffawed heartily. "I see you're still keeping him on his toes, Commander."

"Every chance I get," I admitted.

"That's good. I--"

A rumbling shook the hall. Dust floated from the ceiling, cascading around our heads. An enormous crash reverberated through my bones. Screams rose into the air, shouts, panic, and my heart thudded against my breastbone. An attack? The part of me that was used to wearing armor and giving orders snapped into place.

"Seal the doors!" I shouted at the nearest guard. "No one leaves until we know what's happened."

"Yes, Commander."

"Where did it come from?" I turned to my husband to see his brows drawn low over his eyes.

"The balcony?" He jerked his head toward the people flowing from the doors leading to the terrace. "Just a guess."

"Good call."

We darted forward, dodging the panicked noblemen and women milling about in confusion. "Away! Get away!" I yelled, shoving a particularly stunned woman aside.

We slid to a halt at the terrace doors and my breath caught. The stone and wood that had comprised the balcony had pulled away from the palace, crumbling to the surrounding gardens below. I spotted a bloodied form rise from the rubble and stagger sideways, then fall, and I recognized her as Bann Alfstanna of Waking Sea.

"Maker. The Queen." My eyes whipped to the nobleman beside me.

"What about the Queen?" I demanded.

He turned his stunned gaze to me. "She was--she was on the balcony when it fell."

"Andraste's mercy," Alistair breathed.

"Come on," I said, grabbing his arm. "We have to help."

We ran back to the Landsmeet entrance and outside, determined to do our best to find the Queen.


	2. Fate's Laughter

**Fate's Laughter**

We did find her.

Buried under rubble, stone and beams of wood, we found her broken body. A wooden spike had pierced her breast, so at least we knew she had died quickly, and not lingered as we struggled to locate her. Blood had dried over her gown and skin, a sticky, tacky mess that revolted me--me, who'd seen enough gore to give an archdemon nightmares. Her pretty face had been scraped and partially crushed, and I was suddenly very thankful for the Andrastian custom of a funeral pyre. Her subjects needn't see her like this.

I wished I hadn't.

Hours later, I sat in front of the fire in our guest apartment at the palace, staring at the flames, my knees drawn up to my chest. I couldn't erase the image of the Queen's battered face from my mind. I might not have always trusted her, but I had respected her a great deal. She'd been the inspiration for me, actually, as I'd taken up the duties of Arlessa of Amaranthine, if not the actual title. I'd come across so few women in positions of power. And now…now there was one less.

My gaze flicked to the door and I wondered for the fifth time in as many minutes where Alistair was. Eamon had pulled him aside as I'd spoken to the commander of the Queen's guards and when I'd looked around again, they had both disappeared. I'd occupied myself with continuing the consultation with the palace's security, organizing the efforts to determine what had caused the balcony to collapse; but once that was done, I'd retreated to our rooms, hoping to find him here. He wasn't.

Typical male. Not understanding when I needed comfort, someone to hold me and tell me everything was going to be all right. Damn him.

As I watched, the door creaked open and my husband slipped into the room. His eyes were dark, unfocused, like they were turned inward. One sleeve of his shirt hung loose where it had torn against the rubble of the balcony and dried blood--not his--splashed across the vibrant hue.

"And where have you been?" I demanded, my voice sharper than I'd intended.

He looked at me dully for a moment. "Speaking with Eamon."

"And disappearing with him, it seems. Didn't you stop to think I might be worried about you?"

"Yes. No." He groaned and sank into the chair across from me, cradling his head in his hands.

"What is it?" I hugged my knees to me. "Do they want you to give the eulogy?" That was the only reason I'd come up with in the hours since he'd left me for his continued absence.

He shook his head. "No."

I blew out a breath. "That's good. Considering you didn't like each other very--"

"Eamon wants me to be King."

I stared at my husband as he stared at the fire. My mouth worked, but no sounds emerged. "And what--" I pressed my lips together as my voice cracked. "And what did you say?"

"No." He heaved a sigh. "For now."

"'For now'?" I shook my head, my hair tickling my cheeks. "What does that mean, 'for now'?"

"It means that there is no clear line of succession," he snapped. "Without me on the throne, it will be up to the nobility to determine who will rule. That could mean civil war."

"'Could' doesn't mean it will happen. Maybe everyone will agree that the Teyrn of Highever--what's his name, Fergus Cousland--is the best choice."

Alistair chuckled, and the sad sound made my heart hitch. "I forget, sometimes, that you were raised in the Circle. They don't really focus much on Ferelden history there, do they?" He sighed. "The Chantry, on the other hand, loves to ram political history down initiates' throats. My ancestor, Calenhad, united Ferelden. Before his march, it was a weak nation of warring teyrnirs. Without a strong leader, we could easily slip back into that time. And that would make Ferelden easy prey for Orlais, or any number of our supposed allies."

"Then let's pick a candidate to support and support him."

His eyes closed and he scrubbed a hand over his face. "They've chosen a candidate. Me."

"But you just said--"

"I said no, but that isn't stopping them."

"You renounced your claim to the throne. Happily, I might add."

"I know!" He pushed up from the chair and strode across the room to lean against the desk, his hands braced, his elbows locked. "Damn it, I don't want this, Kiann. I've never wanted this. But I can't let Ferelden disintegrate because I'm too scared to do my duty. It was different when Anora was--five years ago, it was different. Ferelden had a strong ruler. I didn't need to take the throne. Now…"

"And what about your duty to the Grey Wardens?" I blinked as hot tears burned my eyes. "To--to me?"

"Kiann--"

"I'm your wife!" I pulled my knees so tightly against my chest I almost couldn't breathe. "But I'm an elf. And a mage. And a Grey Warden. An _infertile_ Grey Warden, on top of it all. Do you think the nobility is just going to let me become Queen?"

"No." His head drooped. "They're not."

"They--" My throat clogged. "Eamon already mentioned that, didn't he?"

Alistair nodded his head, once.

"And you're still considering it?"

So this is what it felt like, a heart on the verge of breaking. I thought I'd known, after seeing him take the final blow on the archdemon, an action that I'd thought would take his life. But this was different. I had no battle to distract me, no disorientation from his holy smite clouding my mind. I could feel the lines spider-webbing across my fragile heart as clearly as I felt the cold of the room seeping into my skin.

"I have to." The words were just breathed, barely audible.

"No, you don't!" I jumped upward, then marched over to him. I grabbed his arm and spun him around to face me. "You are my second-in-command. A Grey Warden first! I refuse to release you from that obligation." Wetness coated my cheeks and I brushed at it impatiently.

"My love, please…"

"No. No! I will not let you--I won't let you toss me aside like some--like some whore to be used and discarded." I clenched my eyes shut as memories, nearly forgotten, pounded through my brain.

One hand cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing away a tear. "Kiann, no. Never that."

"How can you--" I shook my head as my voice failed.

He pulled me into his arms. I squirmed, hitting his hard chest with my fists, but he wouldn't release me. Tears poured down my face as I swore at him, calling him every curse I'd ever heard Oghren use. Finally, I gave into the sorrow spiraling through me. He held me tight against him, and I realized he was shuddering with sobs too.

"I love you," he whispered brokenly against my neck. "Never, never doubt that. But if there are no other options--if there is no other way--"

"I can't lose you. I can't."

I pressed my lips to his, hard, full of need. He kissed me back, grief and love intertwining. Our teeth clicked together as the longing to show our love, to reaffirm it, drove us. One of his strong hands tugged at my dress; the sound of the fabric tearing was a harsh countermeasure to the ache in my heart. It hung off my shoulders, ripped down the middle. He scooped me into his arms and sat me on the edge of the desk, our lips never losing contact. Hurried, rushed, I pushed his breeches down. His length freed, he pushed against me, inside of me, and I welcomed the urgent invasion, this chance to prove to each other that we belonged to one another, to reestablish our connection.

"I love you," he whispered as he rocked into me. "Always, Kiann. Do you hear me? _Always_."

I held on, unable to speak, my face pressed against his shoulder. Sobs shook my chest even as pleasure built elsewhere. His climax triggered my own, a not-so-gentle sigh of release. My heart cracked as I held him tightly and wept.

I knew--deep down, I _knew_--our time was finite.

###

The funeral was held the next day.

I stared at the bier, trying not to notice how the flames licked at her skin, blackening it. Her blonde hair glowed incandescently before turning to ash, and I was reminded of the last pyre I'd seen: Cailan's, at Ostagar, after we'd liberated his body from the darkspawn's desecration. For all that their marriage started out as a political arrangement, I'd gotten the impression that Anora had truly come to care for her husband. I sent up a quick prayer that they might find happiness with each other once more, at the Maker's side.

Alistair's fingers flexed in mine, but I dared not lean against him like I wanted. I felt the nobles' eyes on us, watching us like predators looking for a weak point. Eamon spoke the eulogy for the Queen, and I wished I'd had the strength to do it. I would have liked to show her, in some meager fashion, how she'd inspired me to be a leader in my own right.

We stood, silently, paying our respects as the fire diminished, as custom demanded. I bowed my head, rehearsing what little of the Chant I remembered. When I glanced to the side, I saw Alistair doing the same, his lips moving much more surely than mine. Murmuring arose as the nobles began to disperse; quiet bursts of laughter floated on the breeze as someone shared a happy memory of Anora as a child. I looked up, watching the thick stream of smoke billow across the sky, dampening the sun's brilliance. Fitting.

"Alistair, a word?" Eamon said softly at my husband's elbow.

"Certainly, my lord. Kiann?"

The Arl paused. "Alone, if you would."

"No. I would not." My husband's eyes glittered. "You seem to forget, Eamon, that Kiann is not only the Commander of the Grey, but my wife. She has a right to be involved in these discussions."

Eamon's lips pressed into a thin line. "It will not make it easier, son."

"Nothing can make this easier, Eamon. Kiann joins us, or I do not go. Pretty simple, I think."

My heart swelled to see him standing up to the man who'd raised him. For me. It might be a useless gesture, but I appreciated it all the same.

Eamon inclined his head and gestured for us to precede him. Alistair's fingers gripped mine like a dying man would clench at a lifeline, but that was the only outward appearance of his internal strife. It struck me that he was not the same man with whom I'd travelled all those years ago. This man had made difficult decisions, faced his own death, and slain the creature that threatened us all. Confidence radiated from him, a quiet confidence, and I knew that if he was called to be King, he would take up the responsibility without faltering.

Maker, I loved him for that, even as it broke my heart.


	3. Denial

**Denial**

Mumbles, discordant tones of discontent, rose above the nobles gathered in the Landsmeet chamber. I studiously avoided looking at the dais at the front of the room, with the empty throne. Looking at it would mean picturing Alistair there, and I couldn't. I _couldn't_.

He didn't release my hand as we entered, and I saw more than a few of the lords and ladies notice our intertwined fingers. Raised eyebrows, shared, _knowing_ looks. I wanted to cast Blizzard on the lot of them.

"Ferelden is in a dire situation, my friends," Eamon stated. He stood at the bottom of the stairs that led to the throne, a place I knew he hadn't picked by accident. No one could miss the significance of the vacant chair. "For the second time in a handful of years, Ferelden is left without a clear successor to the throne."

"And I suppose you'll be wanting to put Maric's bastard forward again, Eamon?" Bann Ceorlic looked even more wizened than during the last Landsmeet I'd attended, deep lines etched around his eyes and mouth.

The Arl inclined his head in acknowledgment of Ceorlic's supposition. But it wasn't Eamon who spoke next. A dark-haired, middle-aged man stepped forward. His eyes held the shadows of someone who'd seen far too much death, too close to his heart.

"I support Alistair's claim," he said, falling to one knee before my husband.

My templar stiffened beside me. "Teyrn Cousland," he hissed, "get up."

Fergus Cousland ignored him. "You are the last surviving descendant of the Silver Knight, and as such, you deserve our fealty. I pledge my sword and shield to you, Alistair Theirin, and those of my teyrnir."

"He rescinded his claim to the throne five years ago," Ceorlic said, his high-pitched voice grating. "Has that been forgotten?"

"Blood cannot be forsworn, Ceorlic. He _is_ Maric's son." The Teyrn rose and bowed to Alistair, his arms crossed, before turning to face his peers. "He is also the man who defeated the archdemon. Surely that alone proves him worthy of Calenhad's throne?"

"My lords and ladies, I--" Alistair paused and shook his head, then started again. "I thank you for the honor, your grace, but I am a Grey Warden. My place is with my wife, the Commander of the Grey, as her second."

"Your duty to your nation supersedes that of to your order," Eamon said quietly.

"Does it?" Alistair raised a brow as he regarded the man who'd raised him. "Grey Wardens give up their titles and their surnames when they join the order, Eamon, and there's a reason for that. We have no loyalty to any one nation."

"So you would turn your back on the country that birthed you?" Ceorlic laughed, an altogether unpleasant sound. "And this is man you would have lead us, your grace?"

Another man stepped forward, one that looked vaguely familiar, but I couldn't place him. "Fergus, I would happily support your claim to the throne, should you wish to make it."

Teyrn Cousland's eyes narrowed and he shook his head. "I do not, Leonas. The Couslands have supported the Theirins since Calenhad, and I will not change that tradition now."

Leonas Bryland, the former Arl of South Reach, now the Teyrn of Gwaren. I recalled hearing news that Anora had rewarded his service to her father with a promotion. "Yes, but if he doesn't wish to take the throne…"

Teyrn Cousland turned back to Alistair. "Your High--"

"Don't, your grace," my husband said, raising a hand. "Please. I have no title."

"It doesn't change who you are." The Teyrn ran a hand through his shaggy black hair, an uncharacteristic show of emotion for one used to operating with Ferelden's nobles. "If I might be so bold, why are you unwilling to take up your father's place?"

Alistair was silent for a long moment. Most of the Wardens in Amaranthine knew him as a man with wit sharpened and ready for battle, eager for a quick riposte to insults and innuendos, but he was no fool. I could see him weighing his response even as Arl Eamon tensed beside him.

"I have obligations, your grace. Not the least of which is to my wife." He held the Teyrn's gaze steadily. "Bann Ceorlic is correct; I did renounce my claim to my father's throne five years ago. I have never considered myself nobility, let alone royalty. And while I did not experience the benefits of my blood, I was also not limited by it.

"Kiann is my wife, and I love her dearly. She is also an elf, and a mage, and a Grey Warden. And, to my ever-lasting amusement, my commanding officer." At this he glanced at me, a half-grin tugging at his lips. "Though she might be noble through her actions, she is not so through her birth, and I know that she will not be accepted as my Queen." He squeezed my hand, still clutched in his. "And I will not put her aside."

"Alistair," Eamon began, his voice low.

My heart thudded against my ribs. He was turning them down. For me. I'd been convinced--

Shame swelled through me. That I would think him so callous as to discard me without so much as a protest, yes, but shame too that I was greedy enough to be happy that he would forego this future in order to stay with me.

Teryn Cousland looked at my husband, considering, then nodded, once. "Then, your Highness, let it be known that Highever supports your claim to the throne, and your wife's place at your side."

The Landsmeet, to this point a solemn affair, burst into shouts and arguments and denials. I stood woodenly, stunned, as unintelligible protests whirled around me. Alistair's hand flexed in mine, gripping my fingers hard enough to hurt, but I couldn't bring myself to care. The Teyrn of Highever--the second-most powerful nobleman beside the ruler of the country--had just said he would support an elven mage as the King's wife. Not Queen; I wasn't naïve enough to think that anyone would be all right with tacking "Queen" in front of my name. But that he would support me, instead of encouraging Alistair to put me aside…

"Enough!" A withered voice erupted from the rear of the room, easily cutting through the dissonance filling the chamber despite its obvious age. The nobles swarming in front of us parted to reveal an ancient woman in Chantry robes, flanked on each side by templars.

The Grand Cleric of Denerim. The meager hope that had sprouted in my chest died painfully. I was not just an elf, but a mage. How stupid of me to forget the significance of that.

The tension radiated off my husband in a palpable wave. I remembered that it had been she who had forced Duncan to conscript Alistair, when she refused to release him willingly from his training. I'd always wondered at that; had she known who he was? Had she hoped to gain some political influence by keeping him a templar and ensuring he was under her control by addicting him to lyrium?

Maker, I'd never met this woman before, and I already despised her.

"This…_woman_ is a mage," she spat, as though she were accusing me of being a murderer. Which, I supposed, I was…but no point in bringing that up now. "Let us not forget that in recent years mages have proven so dangerous that the Circle had to be annulled."

"Kiann was not involved in that," Alistair said through clenched teeth. "In fact, as you'll recall, we were largely responsible for restoring what order could be restored to the Tower."

The Grand Cleric waved her hand impatiently. "It matters little. The potential is still within her to succumb to the demons of the Fade, or to the lure of blood magic, like any other mage. By all rights, she should be at the Tower, where she can do no harm to Ferelden."

"You are speaking of one of the Heroes of Ferelden, your Reverence," Alistair growled.

Eamon laid a hand on his former ward's arm. "What his Highness is trying to say is--"

"'His Highness' can speak for himself, thank you." Alistair shook off the Arl's arm. "What I am trying to say is that Kiann has proven to this entire nation, on more than one occasion, that she has Ferelden's best interests as her main concern. In addition, she is a Grey Warden, and not subject to the Ferelden Circle."

"That may be so," the Grand Cleric conceded with a tight nod. "But be aware that the Chantry will not accept her as the King's wife."

"You overstep, your Reverence." Fergus Cousland's brows drew into a deep scowl as he regarded the head of the Denerim Chantry.

"Do I, your grace? I would say that it is you who overstep, by implying that a mage should be allowed such a position of authority." She turned to the rest of the nobles, her voice raised. "Even if she was not given the title of Queen, or Princess-Consort, can we truly allow a mage to be in such close, unsupervised contact with the King? Blood magic is insidious, my lords and ladies, and we would not know if it was in use until it was far, far too late."

Murmured agreements rose through the chamber. Hatred swelled within my breast, shocking me. Not that I wanted to be Queen, or--what had she said?--Princess-Consort, not at all. But the idea that the Chantry could still attempt to control my life after five years removed from the Tower--five years in which I had proven I was not a threat, five years in which I had worked tirelessly to ensure the security of my country without expectation of reward--_that_ infuriated me. With an effort, I reined in my temper before I could do something foolish like set the Cleric's hair on fire. Wouldn't that be a lovely turn of events? Amusing, certainly, but not productive.

I had never wanted to leave the Tower. Duncan had been forced to conscript me, and nearly had to drag me bodily from the only home I'd ever known. But in the years since, I'd come to appreciate the freedom I enjoyed on a daily basis. No templars hovering over me, waiting for me to turn into an abomination--well, just the one, and he knew my temper was worse than anything a demon could conjure within me--and the opportunity to prove there was more to me than just working a couple of spells. I could lead, and I did, every day. If they tried to imprison me…

Well, Maker help them. They'd have an entire arling of Wardens banging down the Tower's doors.

"It is clear, your Reverence," Alistair began as the murmurs died away, "that if what Kiann has accomplished in the years since the defeat of the Blight has refused to sway you, then none of my arguments will. Teyrn Cousland, I appreciate the extension of your support, more than you know." My husband crossed his arms over his chest and bowed. "But it is clear that the majority of Ferelden, and particularly the Ferelden Chantry, is not ready to be as open-minded as yourself. If you will excuse us, my lords and ladies, we have an arling to return to."

Rather stunned at the length and barely restrained civility of his speech, I allowed Alistair to escort me from the Landsmeet chamber. Murmurs and whispers rippled behind us, like the wake of a ship, until the heavy doors closed, cutting them off abruptly.

We'd only stepped a few paces into the hall outside of the chamber before I tugged on my templar's hand, pulling him to a stop. He looked at me, his eyes dark with simmering anger--anger on my behalf. It was a strangely heartening thing to see.

"You turned them down," I said, the low timbre of my voice barely carrying to him. "I thought--"

The anger in his eyes fled, replaced by concern. "Maker. Did you think we were walking into a meeting where I was going to put you aside and take the crown? Oh, Kiann. I'm so sorry." He pulled me into a tight embrace, tucking my head under his chin. "I was a fool. It was too raw to talk about it last night, and then today…with the funeral…" He pressed a kiss to my hair. "I wish I could say that I thought this was over, but I doubt the pressure will stop. Not until someone else steps up and wins their support, anyway."

"And what are the chances of that?" I closed my eyes and breathed in the scent of him, letting it comfort me.

"Bryce Cousland could have taken the crown when Maric died," he said softly. "He had enough support, but apparently his son learned well from his father. Bryce was a staunch royalist and refused to challenge Cailan's appointment. If Fergus indicated at all that he wanted the throne, he'd be on it so quickly he'd think a mage cast a spell." Alistair sighed deeply and pulled away to look down at me. "But other than Fergus, I doubt there is anyone with the fortitude, charisma, or popularity to take it."

"And you're kind of the whole package, aren't you?" I bit my lip. "Royal blood, but also a warrior and a hero. And young and handsome. It's a little hard to top that."

"Well, they'll have to." He gripped my hand again and continued walking. "Because I refuse to put you aside. If they want me to be King, then they'll have to make do with an elven mage for a Queen."

I let myself be pulled along for a time, before saying, "The Chantry--"

"Damn the Chantry! It has too much bloody power."

I arched a brow as we swept into our guest quarters. "I won't disagree, but I'm a little surprised to hear you say that."

"Why, because I wasn't a mage under constant watch by armed men?" He drew himself up short and took a deep breath. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't be losing my temper with you. It just makes me so unreasonably furious that even after all this time, you're viewed by some people as just a mage. All of the other stuff you did, little things like saving the country, ending the Blight, rebuilding the Wardens in Ferelden--those are conveniently forgotten because you can shoot lightning out of your fingers." He collapsed into one of the chairs in front of the smoldering fire and began pulling off his boots.

"I think it's the fire that scares them the most, though. No one likes to consider being roasted alive."

"Well, I'm glad one of us can joke about this." He abandoned the task of removing his boots with one still on and cradled his head in his hands instead. "And it should be me. When did you become the joker and saddle me with the role of seriously frowning man?"

"Oh, you'll be back to joking in no time, and I'll resume the seriously frowning role, don't worry." I crouched in front of him, my hands on his knees. "Thank you, for everything you said in front of--in the Landsmeet chamber, and just now. I know you love me, but--it's nice to know you like me, too."

"Like you? Maker's breath, woman." A huge smile stretched his lips. "You're my best friend. You do know that, don't you?" His smile slipped a little as worry crossed his features.

"I was hoping that was the case." I rose and insinuated myself onto my husband's lap. "I think I'd like to take our supper in our rooms tonight, seeing as--well, I don't really feel like socializing, do you?"

"Not in the least. Supper in our rooms, then. Oh, and I wanted to talk to you about the training regimen for the new recruits. I was…inspired by the appearance of the Grand Cleric, you could say."

"I hesitate to wonder," I said, chuckling.

"Let me summon our dinner and we can talk in detail."

He gave me a quick kiss, then stood, carrying my small frame with him. He put me in his place on the chair and left the room. I stared at the door for a moment, warmth flowing through me. In every way, he was my partner. I couldn't imagine life without him, now, and I hope I would never experience it.


	4. Ring of Roses

**Ring of Roses**

I stood at the edge of the training field, watching my husband train our newest recruits. They hadn't been through the Joining yet, these half-dozen young men and women, but it would happen very soon. Alistair had expressed his satisfaction with their progress; he'd spent extra time with the four warriors in the group to share some of the mental discipline techniques he'd learned as a templar initiate and had continued to maintain. Not quite giving away Chantry secrets, but coming bloody close.

He shot me a smile as he spotted me and shouted for the recruits to come to attention. They complied instantly and I walked forward.

"Commander." Alistair's eyes twinkled, as they always did when he used my title in front of the other Wardens. Everyone knew our relationship, but it was a measure of respect that he accorded me, even though he didn't have to. And something about the way he said it sent heat rippling through me. It might be interesting to hear him call me that when we were alone, later tonight. In bed…

"How is the training progressing?" I kept my face neutral, but pleasant; aloof, but interested. I couldn't help but think of Duncan, the warmth in his eyes when he looked at his recruits, the warmth that he would have steadfastly denied should anyone have mentioned it.

"Excellent. I believe we can proceed to the gathering stage tomorrow."

Ah, yes, the wonderful test of the recruits' ability to work together against the darkspawn, while collecting darkspawn blood. Disgusting, but necessary. One of the interesting--and rather convenient--elements of Vigil's Keep was its long-buried entrance into the Deep Roads. We'd discovered it many years back, when the Wardens had first come to the arling. There were few enough darkspawn left lingering on the surface, but they were always to be found underground, even though their numbers had diminished significantly. Having our own entrance to the dwarven tunnels was an exceptional bonus to the Vigil.

"And who shall accompany them?"

"Maika," Alistair said without hesitation. "She is the most skilled of the last round of recruits."

I nodded. "Maika it is, then. Your journey is nearly done, my friends," I said to the recruits. My heart panged as I admitted the truth of those words. In the last five years, not a single Joining had passed without at least one death. One of these poor souls would not live to fight the darkspawn again, after tomorrow. "The rest of the day is yours. Enjoy it as you see fit. But…" I held up a hand. "Try not to overindulge."

"Yes, Commander!" The recruits saluted and dispersed across the field.

"Alone at last," Alistair breathed as he drew close to me. Not too close, not on the field like this, both of us encased in armor, but close enough for me to smell the warm metallic scent of his, the slight tang of sweat beneath it.

"Later." I chuckled. "I sought you out for a reason." The small smile that had bloomed at his attention dropped from my lips. "You received another letter from Eamon."

He groaned and turned to walk over to the weapon racks that bordered the training field. I followed close behind. "I thought we'd agreed you were going to burn those."

"I was, but…curiosity prompted me to read it." I watched as Alistair expertly wiped the blunted practice swords and replaced them on the racks. "He should be here in a few hours."

"Maker's breath." His head drooped. "I'm so bloody tired of this. Maybe we should ask the First Warden for a reassignment. This isn't going to end, as long as we're here."

"Contacting Weisshaupt and getting a response will take weeks, and we need to deal with this now. Because there's more, Alistair." I bounced nervously on the balls of my feet, my armor's joints rasping together. "An assassination attempt was made on Fergus Cousland." I held up a hand as he spun, fire in his eyes. The same anger dwelled within my breast--I barely knew the Teyrn of Highever, but he had supported me, and I would never forget it. "He's alive. But…"

I crossed my arms over my chest and cast my eyes skyward. Maker, was I actually going to say this? "Ferelden can't go through another civil war."

"Don't." He slammed one of the swords onto the rack.

"Don't what? Tell you what you already know?" I grabbed his arm and whirled him around to face me. "Do you think I _want_ you to be King? I don't!"

His lips twisted. "Gee. Thanks."

"Oh, it's not a hit against your abilities, Alistair. You would…you would make a magnificent King," I said, my voice dropping. "You could have been Commander here, easily, you know. You can lead, and lead well. I've seen it over and again."

"You are Commander, love. You earned it during the Blight, and I was not about to take it from you." One gauntleted hand cupped my right cheek, the thumb tracing the lines of my tattoo, the ridges of my scars.

I closed my eyes, briefly, savoring the familiar feel of warm metal and leather against my skin. "That's not the point."

His eyes hardened, and his hand fell away. "I won't do it."

"_Civil war_, Alistair. There is no Blight to distract the two sides now. It will consume the country."

He chuckled grimly. "And since when are you a political expert?"

"Andraste's blood!" My magic flared, along with my temper, and I hastily reined it in. "You are infuriating."

"I learned from the best," he said with a crooked grin.

"Do you know how painful this is to contemplate?" I whispered. "I love Ferelden, Alistair, I truly do. I've worked so hard--we all have--to see her righted again. And to have her threaten to crumble around us…" I shook my head, cursing the tears that burned my eyes. "What was the point? If we let it happen, what was the sodding point?"

"What I said two months ago still stands, Kiann. My duty is to you, first. The Wardens, second. Then to Ferelden. I am so sick of my blood trying to rule my life!" Unexpectedly, he lashed out at one of the sword racks, sending it crashing to the ground.

I raised a brow. "Feel better?"

He took a deep breath, his shoulders rising and falling. "No, damn it."

"Just…talk to Eamon. Maybe--maybe Teyrn Fergus managed to convince the Chantry to see his point of view."

"I'm sorry, did the Maker just return to Thedas?" Alistair turned a disbelieving look to her. "Because that's as likely as the Chantry getting its head out of its collective arse."

I snorted. "Alistair! Oh, you would have made a terrible templar."

"Don't I know it. Come here, love." He pulled me into an embrace, the plates of our armor scraping together. He pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "Fine. I'll talk to Eamon. But if he tries to kidnap me away to Denerim, I'll expect you to stop him."

"Of course." I smiled as he leaned down to kiss me. "Now, let's retire for a little bit. I have something I'd like you to say to me in private."

###

Eamon and his entourage arrived just before supper. His letter had implied that he would be only a short distance behind it, so I had set the kitchen to preparing a slightly larger meal than usual. With a castle full of Wardens with Warden-sized appetites, meals were usually enormous, anyway, so it wasn't much extra trouble for the cooks.

Though Alistair and I usually ate with the rest of our brothers and sisters in the main dining hall, I requested that we be served in the family's quarters instead. The dining room there was small, but suited our need for privacy. I stared at my food and poked at it; even my legendary appetite had gone missing. Alistair was no different--he ate, but far less than usual. Eamon didn't seem interested in the meal, either.

Enough. We'd spoken of the weather, Eamon's journey, the progress at the Vigil, everything but the reason why he'd come. I wasn't sure if the Arl was reluctant to broach the subject, for fear that Alistair would dismiss him out of hand, or if he was waiting for us to start.

So I did.

"Teyrn Fergus is recovering, I hope," I said, taking a sip of my wine.

The Arl blew out a breath. He looked so much older than I remembered. When we'd awoken him at Redcliffe, and Teagan had told him his wife had died to save him, there'd been a fire in his eyes that had burned until Anora's affirmation a month after the death of the archdemon. That light was gone from his eyes now, replaced by fatigue.

"He is, Commander, though it was a close thing."

Alistair's fork clattered against his plate. "What happened?"

"An assassin, hidden on a rooftop. He fired a volley of arrows at the Teyrn as he toured the city of Highever, his regular monthly inspection." The Arl's lips pressed into a thin line.

"Did they catch him?"

Eamon inclined his head. "They did. Though he swallowed a poison pill before they could question him."

I looked down at my plate. "So they don't know who's behind it."

"No, Commander, they don't."

"But…" I raised my brows. "You must have a theory."

"Ferelden has never been a hotbed for political intrigue. We're generally simple folk, even the highest nobles, and we certainly don't employ the tactics the Orlesians do within their court." Eamon gave up the pretense of eating his meal and leaned back in his chair. "But tempers flare and people have been known to take idiotic actions when the crown is in question. It's quite possible that a minor lord who supports Teyrn Leonas decided that Fergus needed to be eliminated from the competition."

Something in his tone or the way he sat, looking defeated, told me he didn't really believe that. "But Fergus doesn't want the throne."

"After Alistair, he's the most likely candidate, but, no. He is far more invested in getting Alistair onto the throne than himself."

"Maker's breath, why?" Alistair pushed away from the table and rose to pace across the room. "Seriously. Why? I know nothing of politics, Eamon. Surely that hasn't escaped everyone's notice."

"No one cares, Alistair." The Arl pinched the bridge of his nose. "You are the last of the Theirins. You can unite the country. Without you, it will be civil war." Eamon sighed. "I've already heard tales of minor lords in the Bannorn taking up arms against each other."

Dear Andraste. It was the Blight all over again. Except, this time, there was no archdemon to defeat that would make everything all better.

"There have also been…rumors," the Arl began, "of factions in Orlais pressuring the Empress to act while Ferelden is weakened."

My breath caught. Perfect. Bloody perfect.

"But…Cailan had a formal peace treaty with the Orlesians," Alistair protested, stunned. "And Anora reaffirmed it, didn't she?"

"Peace treaties last only as long as either side is too afraid to break them, son." Eamon crossed his arms over his chest. "Without a leader, and fighting amongst ourselves, we must look like quite the easy prey for those who once held these lands. It's…possible…that the Orlesians are behind the assassination attempt against Fergus. To further destabilize the country."

"Go." The simple word slipped from my lips. So tiny, such an insignificant sound, and yet it changed everything.

"Kiann, don't--"

I sucked in a shuddering breath then stood and met my husband's eyes without wavering. "You are released from your duties as my second."

"Don't…you…dare." He whirled on me, his eyes blazing.

"You can't stop me." I looked down at the table, shocked to see my fingers nearly bloodless from the force with which I pressed them into the wood. My wedding ring gleamed on the third finger of my left hand, a simple gold band etched with roses.

"Kiann, please. Please don't." His voice was rough. He took a step toward me. Stopped.

My vision blurred. A tear splattered against the table. I had to release him completely. But I couldn't. Maker help me, I wasn't that strong.

"You have to go. You have to do this. I can't--" My breath was ragged as I shook my head. When I continued, it was barely audible. "Don't make me take off this ring. Please."

"What about everything we've built here?"

"The Wardens will survive without you, Alistair. Ferelden won't."

"So that's it. Once again, my decision is being made for me. I never expected that of you, Kiann. But, I suppose my life has been filled with disappointments so far, what's one more?" He crossed his arms as his brows descended over his eyes.

I swallowed and clenched my teeth, refusing to wince even though his words dug into me with a physical pain.

Eamon rose to his feet slowly. "Son--"

"No. Stop right there." Alistair turned his glare from me to the man who'd raised him. "You have made it abundantly clear whose son I am. Fine. You want me to be King? I'll be the sodding King. In fact, let's leave tonight, seeing as I've been _released_ from the Wardens. The sooner I get to Denerim and put on the damned crown, the better, right?"

My heart ached and twisted. "Alistair, please."

"No. You've made your decision. It's what you're good at, isn't it? Making decisions, controlling people's lives. Sod it." He threw one of his hands in the air, like he was tossing me away. "I'll go pack."

"Do you--" The tears flowed freely now. I couldn't stop them. "Do you _want_ me to take off the ring?"

He paused, his hand on the doorknob, and leaned his forehead against the wood. His eyes closed. "No," he breathed. "No, I--" He straightened and looked at me. The cracks in my heart widened at the pain in his eyes. "But it doesn't really matter, does it? Goodbye, Kiann."

He stepped through the door without a single glance back at me.

I collapsed into my chair. What had I done? Maker, what had I done?

"Thank you," Eamon said softly. "I know it can't be easy--"

"Shut. Up." The candles on the banquet server flared to life and I struggled to pull my magic back before it lit the Arl's massive beard on fire. "You know nothing. Absolutely nothing. But I suppose now we're even."

The Arl frowned. "I don't understand."

"I cost you your wife. You cost me my husband."

"Kiann, I never--"

I raised a hand, cutting him off. "Just go. Before something other than candles burst into flame."

His eyes widened slightly at that and he made his way to the door, but not through it. "I never blamed you for Isolde's death, Warden. You did what you had to, and her sacrifice saved many lives. It was not an easy thing to come to terms with, but I have." His eyes were almost kind as he regarded me. "I will try to help Alistair understand."

Mute, I nodded. When Eamon disappeared through the door, I pulled my knees up to my chest and let the sobs come.


	5. An End

**An End**

A week later, the letter arrived summoning the Commander of the Grey to attend the Landsmeet.

I stared at it, numb. My days since Alistair had left had been divided into two dichotomies: during the daylight hours, it was work and Wardens, somehow trying to make my wooden face respond to jokes and stories and simple greetings; then, after supper when I was alone, I let the sorrow come and devour me for a time. It left me drained, and empty, and totally unprepared for the next day.

I functioned, but barely.

My hand tightened on the paper, crushing it. Of course I'd be invited to attend; not only as a Hero of Ferelden, but technically I was the Arlessa of Amaranthine, even if I didn't hold that title officially. I was entitled to a say in such a momentous decision. Even though I'd said all that needed to be said a week ago.

Oghren eyed the rumpled paper and snorted. "Not a love letter, then?"

"Not funny." I forced my hand to unclench and smoothed the paper again.

"No, I guess not. What, then?"

"Landsmeet."

"Another one? Sweet Ancestors, how many of those things do they gotta have?"

"One a year. Except when, you know, the Queen dies and they need to crown someone in a hurry."

"Smart ass." Oghren slung back a mouthful of ale then regarded me steadily. "So, you goin'?"

I cradled my head in my hands and contemplated my desk. "Yes, of course."

"You don't have to, Warden. I'm your second now, right? I could go."

A sharp bark of laughter burst from me at the thought of Oghren, on his own, in Denerim. "Oh, that is so not happening."

The dwarf grunted. "And why not?"

"You'd get lost in the Pearl and never be seen again."

He smiled. "Heh. Maybe."

I straightened and rose from my chair. "No, I should--I should go. I _want_ him to do this. I mean…I don't, but--" I sighed. "He'll be a good king."

"Aye. That blighter'll be the best damn king they've seen." Oghren raised his tankard in salute and took a long swallow. "So, when're you goin'?"

"I'll leave in the morning. You're coming with me, right?"

"Oh, aye. Thought you'd never ask. I love me a good Landsmeet. Varel'll keep the Vigil running while we're gone." His eyes twinkled above full, rosy cheeks. "A visit to Denerim! Now that sounds like a good reason for a drink." He belched impressively.

"Since when do you need a reason?"

"I don't. Figured you might, though."

One corner of my lips curved, just slightly. "No, I don't think so. Maybe after the Landsmeet."

Oghren nodded sadly. "Oh, definitely, Warden. Most definitely."

###

I was sodding sick of the Landsmeet chamber.

This time, at least, I wore my Warden Commander plate, my identity emblazoned across my chest in the form of the unmistakable golden griffon. It made me feel stronger, more able to handle whatever I would face today. We'd arrived in the city the night before and stayed at an inn just outside of the Market District. It had been nice enough accommodations, inexpensive, and the best part was that there were no nobles as guests. Small blessings. I'd spent the better part of the morning buffing my armor until it shone and oiling Duncan's sword and shield, trying not to think of the days at camp when _he'd_ taught me how to do all of this, after I'd embraced the abilities that came with being an Arcane Warrior.

And now we were back to where we'd been five years ago, with an entirely different outcome on the horizon. Alistair was going to be King. I was going to learn how to live without him. I flexed my hand in my gauntlet, to feel the rub of my ring against my skin. I would have to take it off eventually. But not today. Probably not tomorrow, either. I imagine the Chantry would pressure the new King to have his marriage annulled at some point, leaving him free to find a new wife, have children, if he could, and just generally pretend that the last five years hadn't happened. That I didn't exist.

Dear Andraste, if I had any hope whatsoever of getting through this, I needed to shut down those thoughts and the emotions that accompanied them. I could not react here. Alistair needed my support--the support of the Wardens--not a hysterically sobbing elven mage.

"Hang in there, kid," Oghren rumbled at my elbow.

I took a deep breath and focused on controlling my mind. We'd had regular drills in classes at the Circle on a form of mental discipline not too different from the templars'; an apprentice who couldn't control her magic was, after all, a dead apprentice. I dug deep into my memory for the techniques. It had never been more important to be in control as now.

"As still as the mirror, as deep as the lake," I murmured.

Oghren shot me an odd look but didn't comment, even as I repeated my mantra.

The crowd parted for me as we entered. Oghren and I were the only ones wearing armor, as I knew we would be, but I welcomed the difference. In nobles' clothing, I was just another elf. In my plate, I was the Commander of the Grey, instantly recognizable. Whispers followed me like a cloud, whispers I did my best to ignore.

Almost as soon as I'd stopped walking and taken up a place at the front of the crowd, Alistair emerged from a side door, accompanied by Eamon, as though they'd planned the timing just so. My heart jumped at the sight of my templar, my husband, dressed in a fine tunic and breeches but still looking as capable as he did in armor. His eyes didn't linger on me, even though I knew he'd seen me; how could he not? It wasn't like I blended into the crowd.

"My lords and ladies," Eamon said in his strong voice, "Prince Alistair Theirin."

_Prince_. Yes, he was, wasn't he? He wasn't confirmed as King yet, but acknowledging his birthright meant adopting the Prince title. Something about it made him a little more distant, a bit more of a stranger. The cool eyes that swept over the chamber didn't help with that, either.

"I never knew my father," Alistair began, his voice ringing through the suddenly silent room, "but I know _of_ him. He was a tireless warrior. A savior to his country. A friend to many. I hope, over time, that I can become a fraction of the King he was--maybe even half of the King he was, if my luck holds out." The crowd laughed politely, and Alistair smiled, but the expression didn't reach his eyes. "If Ferelden will have me, I will take up my father's crown."

"Highever recognizes Prince Alistair." My eyes sought out Fergus Cousland. He stood off to the side, leaning heavily on a cane.

There was a pause as the room waited for the country's other Teyrn to respond. Leonas Bryland stepped forward, his face unreadable, and scanned the crowd. "Gwaren," he said, "recognizes Prince Alistair."

With the two teyrnirs supporting him and no challengers stepping forth, the remainder of the vote was merely a formality. None of the Banns would side against the would-be King, not with the Teyrns firmly behind him. I spoke last.

I met his eyes, those cool eyes I was so unused to, and crossed my arms over my chest in the traditional salute. "Amaranthine and the Grey Wardens recognize Prince Alistair," I said. My voice didn't betray me.

The Grand Cleric hobbled forward from her place off to the side of the room. Alistair dropped to one knee as she mounted the steps up to the throne, and he bowed his head. She held a hand over his reddish-gold hair, murmuring lines from the Chant in the blessing I recalled from Anora's confirmation.

"Rise, King Alistair," she rasped.

And it was done.

When Eamon stepped forward with the crown, I couldn't hold myself still any longer. Without a word, I turned, Oghren trailing behind me, and arrowed for the chamber doors.

"Kiann Theirin."

I froze, midstep. That was not my last name. When we'd married, Alistair had no surname for me to take. Slowly, I turned, even as my muscles prepared to bolt, and squared my shoulders.

"Step forward." A circlet of gold rested on his brow, barely distinguishable from his hair, so close in color was it. He raised a hand and beckoned me.

Why was he doing this? _What_ was he doing? The only thing I could think of was that he wanted to announce here, publicly, that our marriage was ended. Revenge, was it? For forcing this on him?

Gritting my teeth, I walked back to my position at the bottom of the stairs.

His eyes narrowed. "Up here, please."

My jaw tightened. "Still as the mirror, deep as the lake," I breathed.

"Commander?" Oghren's voice was low, little more than a rumble I felt in my chest.

I held up a hand to tell my second to stay in his place and proceeded to walk up the steps alone. Moving off to the side, away from Alistair, I stood at attention, trying my damndest not to look at him. My control was fraying. The façade I'd struggled to maintain was beginning to crack. Whatever he had planned, I prayed to the Maker and Andraste both that it would be quick.

"Teyrn Cousland?" Even his voice sounded different now. More confident. Colder. It was like I hadn't seen him for years, not days.

Fergus Cousland limped to the front of the crowd and shot a glare the Grand Cleric before turning to face his peers. "Kiann Surana--" He broke off with a rueful glance at the King. "Pardon, Kiann _Theirin_, Commander of the Grey and Hero of Ferelden, has demonstrated continually the best traits one can hope for in a daughter of Ferelden. At great cost to herself, she fought to unite the people of our nation to battle the most dire threat we'd ever known. She was instrumental in the Siege of Denerim, leading the troops and ensuring that King Alistair reached the top of Fort Drakon on that horrible day. In the five years since the Blight, she has rebuilt the Wardens, faced down the remainder of the darkspawn threat, and taken over the governance of the arling of Amaranthine capably and well."

He took a few steps to the side, the thump of his cane as stirring as a pounding heart. "Are all of these accomplishments negated by the fact that she is a mage? An elf? No, my lords and ladies, I submit that these accomplishments are even more significant in that light. Despite the ways in which mages and elves are treated in this country, she steadfastly did the best she could to save Ferelden and continues to protect it with little thanks from the rest of us or acknowledgment of all she's done.

"Defending Ferelden during the Blight was an arduous task, made all the more difficult by the adherence to ancient traditions and refusal to adapt. Change must come, my friends, and we must be the ones to usher it in. Highever, therefore, presents a motion on which it requests the Landsmeet to vote." The Teyrn paused. "Highever proposes that Kiann Theirin be elevated to official Arlessa of Amaranthine and that title bestowed upon her. Furthermore, as a noble of Ferelden, her marriage to King Alistair be formally recognized by the Landsmeet, and, in accordance with tradition, she be granted the title of Queen."

Holy Maker, I was going to be sick. My eyes snapped to Alistair's, and I saw the slightest hint of a grin on his face. Had he--had he planned this? But how had he gotten the Chantry to agree?

That question was answered a second later. He hadn't.

"But--but she's a mage!" the Grand Cleric sputtered. "We have discussed this issue, your Majesty."

"Yes, we have, your Reverence. With one significant difference." Alistair's brows lowered. "I was not King then."

"That does not matter!"

"Oh, I believe it does. This is a civil matter, your Reverence, not one that the Chantry need worry about."

"Your Majesty, I don't think you understand what she is capable of--"

"I understand better than you, I believe," Alistair growled. "I was trained to be a templar, as you'll recall. Your unfounded fears and accusations that my wife will somehow control me through magic are absurd. I know when magic is being wrought against me, your Reverence, and I have the skills to thwart it. Now, if you would be so kind as to hold your arguments, I would like to give the lords and ladies of Ferelden a chance to vote on this matter."

Twin strands of happiness and amazement wound through me at the barely restrained anger and passion in Alistair's voice. I cast a quick look around the room and noticed a number of heads nodding in support of the King's words. Eamon looked rather satisfied; Fergus Cousland wore an expression of vindication.

The Teyrn of Highever turned back to the floor. "Highever calls for the vote."

My stomach turned in knots as Leonas Bryland stepped forward. Alistair had stood against the Grand Cleric, but there was still the entire Landsmeet to endure. When this option had been presented two months ago, no one had seemed to be in agreement with it. I forced myself not to bite my lower lip or clench my hands together, nothing to give an outward display of the nervousness I felt.

"Gwaren stands with Highever," Teyrn Leonas said with a quick smile directed at me.

Eamon stepped forward, bowing slightly to me. "Redcliffe stands with Highever."

"Waking Sea stands with Highever."

"Rainesfere stands with Highever."

"River's Ford stands with Highever."

And on it went. Not a single Bann or Arl stood against Highever's proposal. My gaze swept around the room in shock. I had never…never in my wildest dreams thought that the country would stand against the Chantry. Unanimously. Tears pricked my eyes.

Alistair approached me once the voting concluded, watching me with unreadable eyes. "And what of Amaranthine, my lady?"

"Amaranthine--" I stopped and cleared my throat as my voice cracked. "Amaranthine stands with Highever?"

He chuckled at the question in my voice. "Then, my Lady of the Grey…" He got down on one knee, and pulled off my left gauntlet. His fingers tightened on mine as my wedding ring was revealed. "Will you do me the honor of ruling at my side?"

"I will _not_ allow this!"

Alistair's eyes narrowed as he rose and spun to face the Grand Cleric. "Your Reverence--"

"Don't you 'your Reverence' me, young man," she spat. "You've perpetrated a travesty here today. This Landsmeet has been nothing but a mockery of the values that have guided us since Andraste returned to the Maker. Have you forgotten, even as a Grey Warden, that it was _mages _who caused the downfall of the Golden City and the creation of the darkspawn? Mages, boy!"

"Your Reverence," Fergus Cousland said, his voice full of warning, "you will remember to whom you speak."

"He is no King of mine, if he continues with this--this insanity!" She gestured at Alistair with her cane. "Do you understand what you risk, boy? What you all risk?"

"I have very good advisors." Alistair met the Grand Cleric's gaze steadily.

"So you are willing to chance an Exalted March all for this…this elven mage?"

I sucked in a breath. Oh, Andraste. They wouldn't…over _me_?

"There need not be a reaction that extreme, your Reverence." Alistair crossed his arms. "As I said before, I am a templar--or, at least, I have all of the abilities of one. If it satisfies the Chantry, you may consider me her personal guard."

"It does not."

Tension settled into Alistair's shoulders, easily visible to me, so familiar with his body. "Then what do you suggest? Please know that this _is_ going to happen, with your approval or not, but I would prefer to have some measure of concordance with the Chantry's wishes."

The old biddy's eyes narrowed shrewdly. "A squad of templars, assigned to the royal palace, and you are not to be alone with her at any point."

I held my breath. Maker, it would be like I'd never left the Tower, with that kind of security.

The King shook his head. "Unacceptable. But, to reduce tensions, I am willing to compromise." He glanced over his shoulder at me. "Two pairs of templars assigned to the palace, on a rotating watch, and they may guard us like any of the regular royal soldiers. Which means," he continued, "they keep their distance and when we desire to be alone, we are alone."

"But they stay close enough to sense magic usage."

Alistair was quiet for a moment, then he nodded, once. "Do we have an agreement, then?"

"For now," the Grand Cleric said, her ancient voice rough. She turned her faded, watery eyes to me. "Watch yourself, girl."

A flash of regret passed over Alistair's face as he looked back at me. I guess it was suitable; he was no longer completely free, and nor would I be. But if it meant he could do his duty and I could still be at his side, I would have welcomed the ever-present squad of templars, the lot of them, even in the royal bedchamber.

"So, my lady, I don't believe you answered my question," he said softly. "Will you do me the honor of ruling at my side?"

The throat closed, cutting off my ability to speak. So I simply nodded, a smile and tears bursting forth at the same time. Alistair's eyes closed, and he laid his forehead against mine.

"Thank the Maker," he whispered.


	6. Reminders

**Reminders**

The rest of the Landsmeet passed in a bit of a blur. With all the nobles gathered, they took the opportunity to perform my coronation. It was a quick, anti-climactic gesture, but a necessary one. There was no blessing by the Chantry--big surprise--and no crown. One would be made for me, Alistair whispered in my ear, but the royal jewelcrafter needed my measurements to do so.

I kept waiting for someone to pinch me. Or for darkspawn to storm the chamber and reveal this to be one of the horrid dreams I still had occasionally. Because surely this couldn't _actually_ be happening.

It felt like I'd been struck dumb and stupid, my mind unable to process the events unfolding before my eyes. I blinked up at Alistair as he took my hand once the business of the Landsmeet had concluded.

"You look like you need to sit down." He gave me a small smile.

I nodded mutely. He grasped my left hand in his, his fingers tracing the ridge of my wedding ring, and led me out of the chamber to the royal quarters. Behind us, I heard two sets of footsteps. Glancing back, I saw that my shadowing had already begun. A pair of templars marched down the hall in our wake, about twenty paces behind, their faces obscured by the traditional slotted helm. I couldn't help it--I shivered.

Alistair followed my gaze and his lips twisted. "I'm sorry, Kiann, but I couldn't--"

"It's fine," I whispered.

He frowned and I could feel his concern for me radiating off him like a physical thing. But he held his tongue until we reached the royal apartment. The templars moved to step through the door behind us, and Alistair held up a hand to stop them. "No. You may stand in the hall and look all scary, but I won't have you in my living quarters."

"Your Majesty--" one of the templars began.

Alistair scowled at him and slammed the door in his face.

I giggled. I shouldn't have, because I found once I started, I couldn't stop. My breaths shortened, and I couldn't get enough air, suddenly. I swayed as the room started to fade. Alistair's hands steadied my shoulders; my name on his lips sounded distant, like he was calling to me through a tunnel. In short order, I found myself pressed into a chair and my head forced between my knees.

"Grey Warden Commanders are not supposed to faint, you know."

Taking a deep breath to make sure I could, I sat upright slowly. "I didn't faint. And I'm Queen now, and Queens-- Holy sweet Maker, I'm Queen." My breath quickened again.

"Hang on," Alistair said. "Let's get that armor off."

"You--" I held up my arms so he could unlatch the breastplate. "You just…want to see me…naked."

"That's a given. But I'd rather you were conscious. All right, head between the knees again." A firm hand against the back of my head forced me, gently, into the correct position. "You can't hyperventilate every time someone calls you Queen. Believe me. Fainting royals do not go over well with guards."

"You sound--" Deep breath, in through the nose, out through the mouth. "--like you're speaking from experience."

"Maybe. I admit to nothing. Better?"

I rose again, experimentally. Alistair finished removing my gauntlets and greaves. "I think so."

"Good." He fastened his hands on mine and pulled me onto the exquisitely soft rug stretched in front of the inert fireplace. Once I was lying prone beside him, he attacked me with his mouth, planting hungry kisses on my lips and neck. He moved up to my ears, and scraped his teeth along the pointed ridge. A moan erupted from my chest at the attention.

"Maker, I missed you so much," he whispered between kisses. "I'm sorry for what I said. I didn't mean it, not any of it."

"I didn't want to let you go," I breathed. I sought his lips with mine. Silence stretched between us, marred only by gasps as we rediscovered each other.

"I know. I know you didn't want to. I saw it in your eyes, but I still--" He pulled back, his hazel eyes, warm again, gazing into mine. "It hurt."

I nodded. "It did."

"I'm sorry."

"Me too."

"Friends again?" He asked it with a uncertain grin tugging at his lips.

I raised a brow. "It would be a good idea, seeing as you made me _Queen_." I smacked his chest playfully. "How in the Maker's name did you manage that?"

"Get the nobles to agree, you mean?" He pulled me close and I tucked my head under his chin. "Fergus Cousland had been working on it since Anora's funeral. Can you believe it? I tell you, if that man wasn't already a Teyrn, I'd make him one."

I closed my eyes and inhaled, savoring his familiar scent. One of my hands fisted in the loose fabric of his shirt. "So the man who was gathering support for making me Queen was nearly assassinated."

Alistair stilled, then pressed his lips to the top of my head. "Yes, I know. That connection didn't escape me, either, when I heard what Fergus had been doing."

"Do we know any more…?"

"No." He let out a huff of breath. "The would-be assassin was very professional and left no trail that we could follow after his death."

I sucked in a breath. "A Crow?"

"There are other assassin orders out there, you know. And, no, I don't think he was. From the reports, he had no Crow markings."

"So we might never know who wanted him dead." That did not sit well with me at all.

Alistair's arms tightened around me. "I hope not."

I pushed back and stared up at him. "You hope not? That's not very--"

"The only way we'll know, Kiann," Alistair said softly, "is if they try again. And regardless of why they tried to kill Fergus, doing so now would be pointless. They'd either want to come after me--"

"Or me," I breathed.

"Exactly."

"Why did you make me Queen again?"

"Because I can't live without you?"

My breath hitched. "Good reason." I pressed forward, covering his mouth with my own.

We missed dinner, no doubt irritating Eamon. But strangely enough, neither of us cared.

###

Growing up in the Circle of Magi, then traipsing all over Ferelden for the better part of a year, does not prepare one to assume the mantle of Queen. Having the experience of being the Commander of the Grey was a little more useful, but still…this was so bloody odd. People bowed to me. _Bowed_. I was a blasting elf, and humans were actually showing me the same respect they'd give a human Queen. After a few hours of confusion and consternation, I took my husband's advice and just started ignoring it.

Eamon recovered from his annoyance at our non-appearance at dinner that first night and started giving me an accelerated course in how to be royal. First up was dressing like one. I spent most of my first day as Queen being measured and draped with fabric as seamstresses determined what colors and styles would suit me best. Alistair sat in the corner of the room, watching my discomfort with obvious amusement. When the seamstresses weren't looking, I stuck my tongue out at him. He raised a brow, and slowly, ever so slowly, licked his lips.

Heat rushed into my face, up into my ears, and I focused on my reflection in the full-length mirror instead.

"Do you think they could cut them like your old mage robes? The Chasind ones?"

My ears burned hotter as I recalled the ones he was thinking of. They'd been nearly indecent. "Alistair!"

"Just wondering." I kept my eyes on the mirror, but I could hear the amusement in his voice. "Do you know how distracting it was, fighting darkspawn, only to glance over and see a flash of--"

"Alistair Theirin, if you say another word--" Unthinking, I let electricity crackle around my fingers, a small smile blooming on my lips.

Behind me, the door burst open with enough force to send it crashing into the wall. The seamstresses scattered, screaming, as the templars stormed in. I stumbled back off the stepstool. Fabric fell to the ground all around me, tangling in my legs, and I tripped, falling to my ass as two angry, metal-clad warriors loomed over me, their swords and shields at the ready.

"Stop! _Stop_!" Alistair leaped between me and them. "She did nothing wrong. I order you to stand down!"

"Your Majesty--"

"Stand down," Alistair growled, "or Maker help me, I will _make_ you stand down."

I could see the templars' eyes whipping from me to the furious King and back again, and I held my breath. I dared not reach for any magic, lest I provoke them further, even though my instincts were shouting at me to do so.

"Very well, your Majesty," one of them rumbled. It was impossible to tell which, with their mouths concealed. They sheathed their swords and fastened their shields upon their backs, then reluctantly left the room.

Alistair turned to me, anger suffusing his features. Whether it was anger directed at me, or the remnants of that directed at the templars, I couldn't tell.

I swallowed. "I'm sorry. I didn't think--"

"No, you didn't." He scowled, and I knew who the ire was for. Me.

My own temper flared as I shoved myself back to my feet, kicking the reams of fabric away. "Well, pardon me. For the last five years, the only templar I've been around is you. This--this being watched again--" I flung one of the bolts of cloth aside with more force than I'd intended. It crashed into a crystal decanter sitting on the buffet across the room, shattering it.

Bloody wonderful.

Alistair's jaw tensed. "I know. I _know_. I'll talk to the Grand Cleric again, because this is idiotic. You've been living without templar supervision for five years and surprisingly enough, the world has not ended. Surely that has to count for something."

"Don't bet on it." I sighed, then smiled apologetically at the servants still cowering in the corner. "I'm sorry for the drama, ladies. Let me help you clean this up."

"No, your Majesty," the head seamstress said. Evie, I think her name was. "We can handle it. Tasha, call for a maid to help with the crystal, would you, please?"

I chewed on my lip, feeling incredibly guilty. "I really should--"

Evie gave me a shy smile and shook her head. "No, my lady, you really shouldn't."

Alistair chuckled and put a hand on my shoulder, giving it a squeeze. I covered it with mine and craned my neck to look up at him. "Do you ever get used to this?"

"Don't look at me," he said. "I've only been royal for a week, remember?"

"That's a week longer than me," I muttered. My stomach growled, totally unconcerned with the events that had just transpired.

"And the Grey Warden appetite is undaunted even by rampaging templars." Alistair chuckled and pressed a quick kiss to the top of my head. With a gentle pressure on my back, he directed me into the hallway. "I'm hungry, too. Let's raid the kitchen."

"That's probably not a good idea. Between the two of us, we might empty out the larder."

"Very good point. Not to mention frighten the cooks. All right, to the dining room we go. We'll summon something when we get there." He cast a glance over his shoulder, and I didn't have to follow his gaze to know he was scowling at my ever-present guards. He said nothing, though. His fingers intertwined with mine, and we walked to the dining room in silence.

###

Eamon and Teyrn Fergus found us an hour later in the dining room, just finishing up our snack. Fergus looked pale, and his knuckles gripped his cane hard enough to turn white. I wondered if it was pain causing that stress, or something else. His eyes swept over the tableful of food and gave Alistair and myself an apologetic look.

"My apologies, your Majesties," he said, bowing his head slightly. "I didn't realize you were enjoying an early dinner."

"Oh, no, uh…" Alistair grinned sheepishly and rose, placing his napkin beside his plate. "This is…a snack."

Fergus's brow twitched as he took in the remainders of an apple pie, a plate of mincemeat tarts, a selection of cheeses, bread, tea, and cookies. "A snack?" Amusement colored his expression as he turned to look at the Arl.

Eamon grinned. "The kitchen has never been so busy."

"This is a Grey Warden attribute, I take it?" Fergus's lips curved in an answering smile.

"I assume so." The Arl shrugged. "Neither of them will tell me."

"Can we help you, gentlemen?" Good humor lit my husband's eyes.

"I will leaving in the morning, your Majesty, and I simply wished to bid you farewell, on the off chance I would miss you again at dinner."

I hid my smile behind my teacup. The Teyrn's voice held no admonition, just happiness for us, and I suddenly wished he could stay. I wanted to know this man, who'd worked on my behalf and possibly nearly lost his life because of it.

"Teyrn Cousland," I said, rising, "please know that you are welcome at the palace for as long as you wish. I--" I broke off as my throat clogged and I gestured helplessly. "I have no words."

"Please, your Majesty, call me Fergus."

I inclined my head. "All right. I suppose it would be too much for me to ask you to do the same?"

"You want him to call you Fergus?" Alistair grinned.

"Shut up, you," I said without heat.

The Teyrn chuckled, obviously enjoying the exchange. "You remind me of my parents," he said suddenly, and some of the light in his eyes dimmed. "They loved each other very much. Did I--did I ever thank you for your role in Howe's death?"

The humor bubbling in my chest drained away. "No, but it isn't necessary."

"I respectfully disagree, your Majesty. I only wish I could have been there." The Teyrn cleared his throat and visibly shoved the memories aside. "At any rate, I wish you both the best. Should you need aid in anything, Highever stands ready to assist."

Alistair nodded, his face somber. "Thank you, Fergus."

The Teyrn turned to leave, and I darted around the table to lay my hand on his arm. "Wait. It's not much, but…" I glanced at Alistair. "Love, would you warn the templars, please?"

He looked at me quizzically, but did so. The pair of templars accompanied him back into the dining room. An unexpected hatred swelled in my chest at the sight of the severe armor. Maker, if it was this bad after little more than a day…

I shook my head and focused on the task at hand. "I've no great talent for healing," I said to Fergus, "but I should be able to fix that limp and eliminate the pain you're feeling."

"My lady, that isn't--"

"Shush. It is, and there's no point in arguing it."

I closed my eyes and called forth the restorative knowledge I possessed. Not much, admittedly; the primal, elemental school of spellcasting came much more naturally to me, but I'd forced myself to hone one healing spell. The refreshing coolness swept through my veins, and I directed it into the man standing before me. As the magic connected, it sent back information on his health. If I'd specialized in healing, like Wynne, I would have received a great deal more knowledge about Fergus's condition than I did, but what I did learn was enough.

I came back to myself with a gasp. My knees buckled. Alistair was right there, ready to push me into a chair. Healing always tired me out more than any other spell, and he'd obviously remembered. I stared at him, stunned.

He frowned. "What is it?"

"It was a poison within his bloodstream that was still working," I said softly. "I recognized it. I healed you of it, once, after a sparring match with Zevran."

My husband's eyes darkened as he recalled the fight. The assassin had coated his blades with the debilitating substance, not to kill but to incapacitate, and from the look on his face, Alistair remembered its effects all too well. "So the assassin was a Crow?"

"Yes," I said.

"And Zevran's--"

"Leader of the Crows now, yes."

"You've got to be sodding kidding me." He stared at me incredulously. "Are you saying that Zevran is working against us?"

"Maybe not against us, specifically. But against Ferelden?" I nodded. "Yes."


	7. Changing of the Guard

**Changing of the Guard**

I was going to go mad. If I had to sit through another of Eamon's lectures on how to be a good and dutiful Queen, I would scream, and cry, and possibly run through Denerim in my smallclothes. That image brought a smile to my lips. It would certainly earn me a place in the history books. Not that I didn't already have one reserved. I was the Mage Queen, according to the whispers that flitted through the palace, borne on the breeze of servants' gossip. So beautiful and deadly that the King had defied the Chantry itself to marry me.

Well, it wasn't quite accurate, but what stories ever were?

"Is something amusing, Kiann?" Eamon's voice held disapproval, but his eyes were warm.

"Other than the fact that I'm Queen?" I arched a brow. "No, nothing. Why?"

The Arl sighed. "I suppose it would be too much to ask you to learn to curb your tongue?"

"You could ask. My mentors at the Circle did all the time."

Behind his voluminous beard, Eamon's lips twitched suspiciously. "You and Alistair are going to stun any visiting dignitaries."

"Good." I blew out a breath and straightened in my chair. "We might have the title of King and Queen, Eamon, but we weren't raised to be royalty and trying to fit us into that mold--it's not going to work."

"So I'm learning." Eamon sank into the chair across from me and regarded me for a moment before speaking again. "I've hesitated to bring this up with you, Kiann, but you're going to have to consider it."

"What's that?" Although I already had a good idea of what Eamon was going to say.

"The command of the Grey Wardens in Ferelden. You have...other responsibilities now, that supersede that to your order."

I stared at Eamon for a moment, anger rushing through me at the thought that he would be so presumptuous as to tell me what my obligations to the Grey Wardens were. But acknowledgment quickly doused the flames of my ire. He was right; I knew he was right. It wasn't fair to the order to have an absent leader, and it wasn't like this Queen business was a temporary arrangement. My eyes shifted to look at the floor and, slowly, I nodded.

"I'll make arrangements to formally promote Oghren," I said, my voice low.

"The dwarf?" I met Eamon's gaze to find shock and surprise there.

"Yes, the dwarf," I snapped. "He has made a fine addition to the order. What, are you going to question how I operate as a Grey Warden now, Eamon?"

"No, your Majesty." Eamon dropped his eyes. "I can send a request for the Wardens to convene in Denerim--"

"No." I raised a hand. "I'd rather go to the Vigil. It's more fitting, I think."

The Arl inclined his head. "So be it. Three days should be enough time for the arrangements to be made."

I clasped my hands in my lap, trying desperately to quell the feeling that my life was spiralling out of my control. Being a Grey Warden was something I'd reluctantly embraced, to be sure; six years ago, Duncan had dragged me forcibly from the Tower after conscripting me, and I had hated the life I'd found myself thrust into. But now...I _was_ a Grey Warden. It was all I really knew. Giving it up...was harder than I'd anticipated.

My eyes snapped up as a page burst into my office. "Pardon me, your Majesty, my lord," he panted. "But the King requests your presence."

"Has the Dalish ambassador arrived?" Eamon rose stiffly from his chair.

"Yes, my lord. And...someone else."

I arched a brow, sharing a confused look with Eamon, and followed the messenger to the Landsmeet chamber. My templars trailed behind. We entered through the rear, coming up behind my husband as he stood in front of the throne, his hands clasped behind his back and his stance rigid. I frowned, then followed his gaze to the strip of carpet laid out before the dais on which the throne sat. A blond figure crouched there, on one knee, his head bowed.

"Zevran Arainai," I breathed.

"Ah, my dear Warden." Zevran looked up, his eyes twinkling with humor, as always. He arched a brow. "Though I suppose it's 'your Majesty' now, isn't it? My deepest apologies for the incorrect salutation."

"Did you summon him?" I kept my voice low, for Alistair's ears only.

"Me?" His eyes narrowed as they shifted from the assassin to me and back again. "I thought you had."

"Oh, Wardens--er, your Majesties--do not fret so. I summoned myself. I was in Ferelden on another matter and I decided a visit to the palace was in order." His lips curved in a broad grin, the elf rose from his bow. He wore nobleman's clothing instead of his customary drakeskin armor. My eyes swept over him, looking for the telltale signs of hidden weapons. I saw none, but, knowing Zevran, that didn't mean he wasn't armed.

He didn't miss my inspection, of course, and his grin grew. "Like what you see, my dear?"

"Zevran," Alistair growled.

"Ah, still the protective one, I see. The kingdom looks good on you, I must say. Which brings us to the reason I am here." His grin stayed in place, but some of the jovial light in his eyes dimmed. "I...heard...that one of the Teyrns had an unfortunate experience recently."

"Oh, you _heard_ that, did you?" I crossed my arms and gritted my teeth at the assassin's games. My magic prodded me to act, but I kept it caged tightly within me. Rampaging templars would not do the situation any good.

"I did indeed. Such a terrible occurrence, that." Zevran shrugged, his arms extending to his sides in a placating gesture. "One can only assume that the would-be assassin was acting on orders that he thought were genuinely in the best interests of this lovely nation."

"And who might have given these orders, I wonder?" Alistair's arms tightened as he gripped his hands even harder.

"Silence can be bought as well as service," Zevran hedged.

"I see," I said as I took a few steps down the stairs toward the assassin. "And, in your professional opinion, as the leader of the Antivan Crows, do you think that another attempt will be made in the 'best interests of this lovely nation', as you put it?"

He met my gaze squarely, and nothing was left of the joking humor from a moment before. "No."

I let out the breath I'd been holding. Maybe I was a fool, but I trusted this man. I might never know who had ordered the assassination on Fergus, or why, but I had confidence in him that another attempt would not be forthcoming. "Thank you," I said softly.

"What? You believe him?"

I turned and laid a hand on my husband's arm. "I do."

Alistair looked down at me, his eyes fiery. After a moment, some of the anger drained away. "I hope you're right." His eyes shifted to the assassin standing behind me. "If you're not..."

"Your Majesty, you and your wife have nothing to fear from the Crows." I looked back at Zevran in time to see him dip his chin again. "And I believe I've overstayed my welcome. I simply wished to greet you and offer my congratulations on your surprising and _unexpected_ rise to power."

I nodded, Zev's choice of words confirming my suspicion. The urge to invite the assassin to stay, and share a meal, at least, rushed through me, but I held my tongue. This wasn't six years ago. I wasn't a simple young mage, lost in the world and charmed by an elf with a roguish smile. I saw now what I didn't know enough to see then: Zev was not necessarily a man I wanted at my side. He could be useful, certainly, and I believed his vow that Alistair and I had nothing to fear from him or his order. But I wouldn't forget a comment made jokingly at the Anora's post-Blight confirmation, about how he wouldn't let anyone get close enough to assassinate me--at least, not without being paid a great deal of money. I hadn't taken it seriously, and I still didn't, but it did serve as a reminder that for all his gentile nature, Zev was a killer, and _very_ good at what he did.

Maker, let him stay on our side.

"Safe journeys, Zevran. We appreciate your visit." I tugged at Alistair's arm to get him to unclench his hands, then intertwined my fingers in his. He squeezed reassuringly.

"It was the least I could do, your Majesties. May the Maker bless your rule." Crossing his arms over his chest, he bowed, then flashed me the flirtatious grin I'd come to know so well before he left, silently.

"He didn't know," I said softly to my husband.

"He didn't know what?"

"That you were King, or that I was Queen." I shot a quick smile at him. "'Unexpected', he said. If he'd known, he wouldn't have taken the contract."

Alistair returned my gaze, worry creasing his forehead. "You're reading an awful lot into that conversation."

I shrugged. "Maybe."

He was quiet for a moment, considering. "So what should we do?"

I took a deep breath. "We should get ready to go on a trip."

"Oh, really? Where to?" One corner of his mouth quirked.

"Amaranthine. Well, the Vigil, more specifically." I flexed my hand in his and looked down as a sudden swirl of emotion swept through me.

"Eamon spoke to you, then." He turned to me, taking my other hand in his grasp. "It's for the best."

"I know. And I agree. I just--" I broke off. "It's harder than I thought it would be. I'm not the same girl who hated being a Grey Warden."

He pulled me against his chest and pressed a kiss to the top of my head. "No, you're not," he said. "Thank the Maker."

"Hey!" I jabbed a finger into his ribs and he pulled away, chuckling.

"I jest, I jest." Smiling, he brushed his thumb over the curve of my cheek, tracing my tattoo. "Now, I think we've kept the Dalish ambassador waiting long enough, haven't we? Let's get back to running the country."

I returned his smile as he gestured for a page to bring in the waiting dignitary. It felt odd, but the sight of servants running to do our bidding was no longer as strange as it had been. Maker's breath, was I actually adapting to this new life? Well, I'd told Alistair after the final battle at the Siege of Denerim that being a Grey Warden wouldn't be so bad if he was beside me. I supposed the same held true for being royalty.

###

Our arrival at Vigil's Keep three days later was greeted with a great deal of pomp and circumstance. My heart swelled to see the Wardens lined up to meet us, each dressed in their finest armor and standing at attention. We had done this, Alistair and I; we had rebuilt the order, the two of us, from nothing. Perhaps pride was a sin, but in this case, I thought it was well justified.

Oghren marched out to our entourage, a huge grin splitting his face. "Well, if it ain't his and her Majesty themselves. Lookin' good, kids."

I spared a glance for my fine gown made of orange and gold silk and flashed the dwarf a quick grin. "It's a little more comfortable to travel in than my armor," I admitted.

"I don't sodding doubt it. Well, come on then. Get down from that frilly cart."

"It's the royal carriage, Oghren," Alistair corrected him.

The dwarf snorted. "It's prissy, is what it is."

The King considered the vehicle for a moment, then nodded. "You have a point."

"Gentlemen." I chuckled. Maker, I'd missed this easy banter. "Help me down, would you?"

Alistair leapt from the carriage and swung me to the ground with little effort, a smile creasing his lips.

"So, you're gonna make me Commander, eh?" Oghren cleared his throat. "Uh, Warden--did you hit your head while you were in Denerim?"

I laughed. "No, Oghren."

"Well, I think she must have." Anders, the blond apostate I'd conscripted on my first trip to the Vigil, strode up and crossed his arms. "The dwarf is a terrible choice, Commander. Er, your Majesty. Blast it. What do I call you?"

"Kiann." I grinned.

"Oh, no. That's even odder than the other two options. I think I'll just stick with, 'hey you'."

Alistair arched a brow. "And what about me?"

"You can be 'hey you too'."

"Excellent." Alistair nodded sagely, as if it wasn't the most ridiculous thing we'd ever heard. He extended his elbow to me. "Shall we, love?"

"I think I'll freshen up before dinner, if that's all right."

Anders grinned at Oghren. "Pay up, dwarf. Two sovereigns."

"Sodding mage," my second-in-command muttered. "How did you know?"

"She _always_ freshens up after a trip. All women do. It's like a compulsion for them, or something." He held out a hand.

Grumbling, Oghren dug into his purse and pulled out a pair of gold coins. They clanked together as he dropped them into Anders's waiting palm.

I watched the exchange with amusement. "You bet each other whether I'd want to freshen up when I arrived? Are things truly that boring at the Vigil?"

The mage shrugged. "A friendly bet is all. A way to earn some coin."

"For you," Oghren rumbled.

I chuckled and Alistair shook his head as we started for the main entrance of the keep. "Well, I'm glad to be of some entertainment, anyway. Oghren, would you be so good as to have a bath drawn up for me?"

"Ha!" Anders held out his hand again. "Already done, Com--uh, 'hey you'."

"Maker's breath." I laughed at Oghren's renewed complaints as he handed over more coin, but my mirth died with a glimpse of the ever-present templars shadowing me. "Anders--"

His smile dropped away too. "I'll be careful, your Majesty. Maker knows I have no desire to end up back at the Tower."

Alistair's eyes narrowed as he regarded the imposing sentinels. "When we get back to Denerim, Kiann, we'll address this, I promise."

I shrugged. "It's a small price." Giving into impulse, I propped myself up on my tiptoes and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "You go on with Anders and Oghren, love, and I'll meet you before dinner."

He bent down to whisper in my ear. "Are you sure you don't want company in your bath?"

"Oh, I'd love it," I assured him. "But I think we should be on time for this dinner, don't you?"

"_Now_ you get a sense of duty." He laughed softly. "Off with you, then. I'll see you soon."

I made my way through the Vigil, trying my best to ignore the silent shadows stalking me. Well, not that silent. Their armor clanked and their swords scraped against their shields as they marched behind me. When I reached the quarters that had been mine a lifetime ago, they fell into place beside the door and didn't try to follow me inside. Yes, apparently even templars could be taught.

As promised, the tub steamed invitingly. Condensation covered the interior of the bathroom and a fog hovered at about eye level. Quickly I stripped off my robes and sank into the too-hot water, hissing as it bit at my skin. Someone had added some scented oil to the bathwater; lavender, perhaps a bit of jasmine. My eyes closed and I inhaled deeply, letting the heat and aromatic steam do its job, and the tension from the road drifted away.

Sometime later, I heard the door open and shut. I smiled, my eyes still closed. "I wondered how long it would be before you joined me," I said, my voice low.

A force slammed into me, tunnelling through my mana to my core and draining everything away. I gasped and braced my hands against the side of the tub to keep myself from sinking under the water. My eyes shot open in time to see a sword plunging toward me. I leapt away, the ancient knowledge that made me an arcane warrior giving me agility and strength a mage should not possess. Water splashed onto the floor. I spun to face my attacker, my feet skidding.

One of my templars stood on the opposite side of the large tub that dominated the bathroom, sword and shield in hand. He blocked the only exit from the room. Not only was I naked, I couldn't even summon an arcane bolt. His holy smite had drained my mana completely, and it was always slow to regenerate.

Not good, not good, not good.

Shouting wouldn't help; the Vigil's walls were thick stone, nearly sound-proof. No one was expecting me yet, so aid would not be forthcoming. Panic started to bubble, but I forced it down ruthlessly. I'd faced thousands of darkspawn. I'd helped kill a giant, evil dragon. I would not meet my death at the hands of a sodding _templar_.

"So, you decided you were tired of watching me, is that it?" My eyes narrowed and I moved a half-step to the left. "The Chantry doesn't pay you enough to be a baby-sitter?"

"I've heard tales of what the Qunari do to their mages," he growled. "They cut out their tongues. A smart practice, that."

Anger flared but I grasped it, channelled it, instead of letting it blind me. I eased my stance, like I was letting down my guard, and shifted to the left again. "I guess I now know who was behind the assassination contract on Teyrn Cousland."

"You think you're so smart--"

I darted to the left to dash around the tub, and the templar moved to intercept. At the last second, I changed direction and leapt over the tub instead, relying on my magically enhanced strength to power my action. The doorway rose before me, empty. Freedom was a step away--

My progress slammed to a stop. I looked down, stunned disbelief swimming through me at the sight of the sword jammed into my gut up to the hilt. The templar had adjusted his attack, coming at me from the side instead of straight on, and the sword jutted from me at an odd angle. There was no pain. In fact, I was starting to feel rather numb.

With a gurgling cry, I wrenched away from the templar. He released the sword, and I grabbed the hilt instead. Blood trickled around the blade. At the sight of the red staining my skin, fury rushed through me. I screamed and pulled the blade from my stomach, the edge slicing my palms. More blood gushed forth, a flood pooling at my feet. With a roar, I launched the sword at the templar, my aim true. He thundered to the floor, the blade inserted neatly through the eye-slit of his helm.

I turned to the door. _Alistair_. I had to get to him. He had to know. I took one step, or tried to--but my knees failed me. I crashed to the floor, surrounded by my blood. My hands pressed feebly to the wound in my abdomen, but blood still pulsed forth. Slower now, though. Much slower.

I reached out a hand and pulled myself forward. Damn it, Kiann. Not like this, not without Alistair. I had to--


	8. Pleas

_**Part 2: **_

_**Alistair**_

---

**Pleas**

Maker, I'd missed this. Sitting with Wardens, sharing a pint and some laughter. Here, they didn't treat me like the King, or the Bastard Prince, or one of the Heroes of Ferelden, or any of the other blasted titles I'd had over the years. I was just Alistair. One of them.

I wondered what Eamon's face would look like if I just decided not to return to Denerim. He'd probably keel over dead, that's what. And then I'd have Kiann to deal with--not that there was much love lost between her and my foster father, but she'd been the one to prod me toward the throne. Somehow I didn't think she'd just let me walk away now that we were King and Queen. She was rather determined.

My eyes drifted to the still-empty entranceway into the dining hall. How long did it take to "freshen up", anyway? Maybe, despite her words earlier, she was waiting for me. I shifted, a grin dancing across my lips.

"She's probably doing her hair," Oghren rumbled. He took a swig of ale and belched. "Felsi didn't often fuss with hers, but, by the Ancestors, when she decided to get done up for something, it took _hours_. Drove a man to drink, it did."

My lips stretched in a grin, imagining Oghren, impatiently getting stinking drunk while his second ex-wife made herself look pretty. "And she let you get away? One wonders at her sense."

"Aye, I know. But that's long past now, isn't it? Uh, Alistair..." Oghren stared at his tankard. "Are you sure.... I mean, is Kiann really sure about this? Maybe Nate would be a better choice."

I clapped Oghren on the back and rose. "You'll make a fine Commander, Oghren. Stop worrying. I'll just go see if she needs, uh…any help."

"Help, is it?" Anders's gaze twinkled. "Don't let your 'help' take too long."

Rolling my eyes, I headed for the corridor and jogged up the stairs to our old quarters. My steps faltered as I approached the unguarded doorway. Where were Kiann's templars? Unless she'd gone off somewhere else and they'd followed? No, that made no sense. She wouldn't go wandering about when we were all waiting for her. If she'd needed something, all she'd have to do would be to summon it. I cursed the impulse that had told me my guards weren't needed here, of all places, in a castle stuffed with Wardens who adored Kiann.

My heart kicked hard, once, before I calmed it. I plastered a smile on my face as I opened the door, knowing that if I burst into her bath with concern writ large across my face, I'd never hear the end of it. She'd stare at me with those big grey eyes, one brow arched, laughing--

I froze as the smell hit me. Something girly, but underneath that, the sharp, coppery tang I'd smelled too often.

I launched myself toward the bathroom door, my heart thudding. She'd fallen, that's what I'd see. She'd fallen and cut herself, and that was why--

Blood. Everywhere, _everywhere_, blood. And Kiann, still as...

"No." My hand gripped the doorframe as I hesitated, praying, begging for her chest to rise and fall. It didn't.

"No. _No!_ Please, Kiann." I scrambled forward, falling to my hands and knees beside her. I tugged her into my arms, a moan escaping from my lips as I saw the horrible wound in her stomach. "Oh, Maker. Oh, sweet holy Maker, please, _please_. Don't leave me, love." I brushed a hand over her icy skin, tracing the line of her cheek, rubbing the tip of her ear. Blood smeared like paint across the canvas of her skin. Her eyes stayed closed. I pressed my forehead to hers, incoherent words, prayers, promises tumbling from my lips.

She needed healing. Healing. "Hang on, love," I whispered, pressing a shaky kiss to her cheek.

"Anders! _ Anders!_" Damn it, why wasn't anyone coming? Didn't they know? I continued screaming the mage's name until my voice threatened to disappear.

Finally, footsteps. Three pairs. Running. I looked down at Kiann. "Help is here, sweetheart." My voice was broken. Unsteady.

"Sweet Andraste." Anders, his voice barely audible. I looked up to see horror etched on his face, disbelief on Nate's, and an utter lack of emotion on Oghren's usually expressive countenance.

I swallowed, my throat tight. "Anders, _please_."

"What happened?" Oghren rumbled.

I blinked stupidly at the dwarf as the mage rushed forward. Magic flared out from him, a cool breeze, and I knew everything would be all right. It had to be.

"Alistair! What happened?" Oghren demanded a second time.

I shook my head, distracted by Anders trying to move Kiann off of my lap.

"I need you to give me space, Alistair. Please." The mage's eyes were serious for once.

I let go and stumbled back, staring at my wife's pale, motionless figure. More magic swelled. Still more, until I wondered that Nate and Oghren couldn't feel how the room was filled with it.

"Alistair." Oghren stepped in front of me. "Focus, lad. Was it the templar? Did you kill him?"

My brows drew into a frown. "Templar? I don't..." I looked around the room, seeing my surroundings for the first time. Bath, cooled. Over on the left side, an armored figure, prone, a sword protruding from its head.

The templar. The _templars_ had done this?

Clarity settled over me. "Lock down the Vigil," I ordered, my voice rough from shouting, my throat raw. "Alert the captain of my guard. There were three other templars. Find them."

Nate cleared his throat, and stepped forward with one hand outstretched. "Alistair, perhaps you'd better--"

_"Find them!"_ I marched to the body and wrenched the sword out of its skull. Gore dripped off the blade. My eyes caught on Kiann's still form and panic threatened. She hadn't stirred, hadn't shown any sign of response to Anders's healing magic. But…he wouldn't keep trying if there wasn't hope, would he?

If she…if she was gone…

I took a step toward her and Anders, unsure of what I should do. What I _could_ do. She was the one with the mind for planning, not me. I'd wanted her on the throne beside me because I loved her, because I couldn't bear to be without her, but also because she was sodding brilliant. Strong, resilient, resourceful. I needed her with me because I didn't have the first clue about how to be a king, but _she_ adapted to whatever situation she found herself in. She would figure out this whole ruler-of-the-nation thing much quicker than I, and I could learn from her. It was how we worked.

"Alistair, I can't…" Anders shook his head and glanced up at me. "I can't do this with you hovering."

"Is she going to be all right?"

The mage simply closed his eyes again, his face falling into that serene look I'd become accustomed to as we traveled with Wynne. He didn't answer, and I had to know.

"Damn you, Anders, is she--"

"Lad, leave him be." Oghren's rumbling voice was softer than I'd ever heard it. He laid a solid hand on my forearm. "We have work to do."

Right. I clenched my teeth, trapping the grief inside my chest. Later. There would be time later to beg and cry and scream.

Now I had to focus on finding the three missing templars. And meting out justice.

###

It was difficult to hide or escape from a castle full of Wardens, so the templars hadn't tried. They were found in the cellar, helping themselves to the Vigil's wine stores. A last drink. Ice formed in my veins as Oghren told me of the situation in which they'd been discovered. I'd wondered if perhaps Kiann had inadvertently used magic, and the templar had overreacted, but no. They'd known, then. This had been planned.

Nate lined them up before me, in the main hall before the huge fire. As one, they stared at the floor. All young men, all with defeated expressions. They knew their fate.

I walked up to the first one, my eyes narrowed. His eyes widened slightly, taking in the blood that covered my finery. Good. Let him be frightened. "Who ordered the Queen's death?"

He schooled his expression into one of disdain. "You are a traitor," he rasped, his eyes meeting mine unflinchingly. "A traitor to the Chantry, and a traitor to your country. No man worth anything would touch a harlot like--"

Stepping back, I fell into an offensive stance and put my weight behind a sure, determined swing of the borrowed sword. The first templar's head left his neck and the body crumpled to the floor.

I turned to the next templar. "Who ordered the Queen's death?"

"I-I don't know. I received a note the day before last sealed with the Chantry's signet. The Queen was an abomination, it said." His eyes widened as I raised the sword. "I didn't think she was, but I've only seen one once, at a Harrowing, and I wasn't sure. Ser Erick said he knew the signs."

"Ser Erick?"

"Him." The second templar swallowed and nodded at the body on the floor.

"So you were simply following orders?"

"That's right, your Majesty!"

I nodded, then swung the sword a second time. He thudded to the ground.

I turned to the third templar. "Who ordered the Queen's death?"

"I am to be executed?" He met my gaze squarely, but without the antagonism or panic of the others.

I narrowed my eyes, wondering at his game. "Yes."

"Very well." He straightened, standing at attention. "Like Ser Garett, I received a missive two days ago with the seal of the Chantry upon it. It was vague in its orders, but I do not doubt that it originated within the upper echelons. It is well known through its ranks that although the Chantry might seem calm enough on the exterior following the Mage Queen's coronation, turmoil roils deep within."

"Did this order come from the Grand Cleric?"

"If I knew, I would tell you." Truth shone in his gaze. "We were to attack when an opportunity presented itself. Ser Erick and Ser Harold--the fellow who attacked the Queen--disagreed on when this should be. Ser Erick bade Ser Garett and myself to come with him, since Ser Harold would not listen. I believe it was his hope that we could claim ignorance should anything untoward happen to Ser Harold. Erick was not a smart man. I attended him because I wanted nothing to do with this action, your Majesty, but the Chantry is all I know. I harbor no ill-will toward your wife. I did not believe she was an abomination, but I was not sure. It will be my everlasting regret that I did not come to you with this information sooner."

My throat closed. My hand flexed on the hilt of the borrowed sword. "Thank you."

"Your Majesty," Oghren began. I held up my off-hand to silence him.

I dipped my chin to the templar standing before me. "May the Maker welcome you to his side."

He nodded and looked straight ahead. "'I shall not be left to wander the drifting roads of the Fade; for there is no darkness, nor death either, in the Maker's Light. And nothing that He has wrought--'"

A third sweep of the sword silenced the Canticle of Trials. The borrowed blade dropped from my numb fingers as I fell back a few steps. Suddenly Nate was on one side of me, Oghren on the other, and the captain of my guard hovered close behind. My stomach threatened to rebel, but I forced it into submission. I'd done what needed to be done. Nothing more, nothing less.

"Any news?" My voice was not steady, but I didn't care.

"Anders had her moved to another chamber," Nate said softly. "That's all we've heard."

I closed my eyes briefly. Maker, _please_. "Take me to her."

###

She looked like a child. Pale, delicate, nearly insubstantial in the giant bed. Her russet hair feathered over the pillow, and her features were composed, calm. Anders sat on one side, in a chair, his upper body laying atop the covers. His skin seemed almost as translucent as Kiann's. I watched for a moment, wanting to see myself the rise and fall of her chest; it was so shallow, I missed the first few breaths.

"Anders." Nate nudged his friend awake with a large hand on his shoulder.

The mage sprung upright instantly, blinking. "I'm up."

I stepped forward. Anders's head drooped as he saw me, and he rose. He held a hand over Kiann's chest for a brief moment, and I felt magic cascade from him.

He was _still_ healing her? After all these hours? Oh, Maker, _please_.

He turned and approached me, nodding in the direction of the hall. I obliged by preceding him out the door. A small retinue of my guards waited in the corridor; no more would there be an assumption that the King and Queen of Ferelden were safe anywhere, even in a castle full of Ferelden's finest warriors.

Anders blew out a breath. "She's alive, Alistair, but…"

_Alive_. My knees buckled and a hand reached out blindly for support. Someone caught it; someone else forced my head down. I staggered, then crashed to the floor. Breathe.

"Thank you, Anders," I said when I could. When my vision had cleared enough to show the mage looking down at me, concerned. "Oh, sweet Maker, thank you."

"Don't." The mage pressed his lips into a thin line and collapsed on the floor opposite me. "She's alive, Alistair, but--dear Andraste, I hate this. _Hate_ it." He tugged on his earring. "I don't know _how_ she's alive. It's like her magic is sustaining her."

"She's an arcane warrior." At Anders's blank look, I expanded. "An ancient elven spirit showed her how to harness her magical ability and use it to enhance her strength and physical aspects."

"Really? This was before the Blight ended, I take it?" At my nod, the mage chuckled tiredly. "The more I hear about your travels, the more I wished I'd met up with you sooner."

"So," I prompted, "her magic is keeping her alive?"

"Yes. The body's supply of stamina and strength is finite, but a mage's connection to magic is perpetual. As long as she is not cut off from the Fade, her body can use the magic in place of the strength she's lost." He arched a brow. "Quite handy, that. I wish I'd gotten her to show me how to do it."

I frowned. "Anders."

He blinked and rubbed his forehead. "My apologies. I'm tired, and my mind…wanders sometimes."

"If her magic is keeping her alive, and that's a good thing, why--"

"Alistair, her body was dead."

I shook my head, not understanding. "But you said she's alive."

"And she is. Now." He squeezed his eyes shut and looked down. "But she's like a new fire made with wet kindling. I have to keep blowing on the flames, with magic, to make sure they don't snuff out. Her spirit hadn't given up, but her body had. She'd lost so much blood, Alistair, and her injuries were critical. I've done what I can, but--"

Anders's words were like a punch in the gut, stealing my breath. "What are you saying?"

The mage scrubbed his hands over his face. "She's dying, all right? I've done all I sodding can, and it _still_ isn't enough. I can keep her alive for some time yet, but eventually my flame-fanning trick is going to stop working."

I stared at him, uncomprehending. No. "There has to be something," I whispered. "Some spell, some ritual…"

"There isn't."

"There has to be!"

_"There isn't!"_ The mage shoved to his feet. "I wish there were, Alistair. Oh, by the Maker, if I could do something, anything to help her, I would. All I can offer is to keep her…_here_…for as long as possible. I'm so sorry."

"Will she--" I broke off as my throat closed and shook my head. "Will she ever wake up?"

"It's doubtful." Anders crossed his arms over his chest, and his head drooped. "If you want some time alone--"

I nodded. He reached down and I grasped his offered hand, pulling myself upright. I swayed on my feet for a moment, but then steadied myself. My back straight, I walked into Kiann's chamber and took Anders's chair, which I hitched closer to the bed.

One of my hands brushed over her brow, pushing aside her bangs. I traced the lines of her tattoo with my fingers, barely feeling the scars camouflaged by the ink.

"I'm so proud of you," I breathed. "You didn't let him do this without a fight. You really aren't the girl I met at Ostagar so long ago. Some days, I miss her. She was so easy to smile and took events even less seriously than I. Do you remember--" A half-laugh, half-sob choked out of me. "Remember how we baited Morrigan? Oh, she hated us so much for that. She'd start out by trying to insult me, and you'd jump in with your own remark, and before two more lines of conversation had been exchanged, you'd manage to turn the tables on her. I think that's when I started to think about you…like that. You know. Ugh." I leaned my forehead in my hands. Maker, inane nonsense was spewing out of my mouth, but the silence pressed on me like an enormous weight on my chest. I could hardly breathe with the pain in my heart.

I grasped her hand in both of mine and pressed my lips to her knuckles. "I don't want to lose you, love. I can't--I can't do this alone, so you can't leave me. Please. Maker, Kiann, please don't leave me." The last was exhaled on a shuddering breath, and suddenly tears burst forth, unbidden, uncontrolled. I sobbed unashamedly, clutching at my wife's hand, begging the Maker to let her stay at my side.


	9. Proclamation

_A/N: A special thank you to the ladies of We 3 Alistair for their help in figuring out a good army size...even though I didn't end up using actual numbers. And SidheKate, your searchfu rocks especially._

---

**Proclamation**

"Alistair, you need to eat something."

I shrugged off Anders's hand with a grunt. My stomach ached dully, but like the rest of me, it was mostly numb. In the last week, I'd moved from Kiann's side only to relieve myself. I'd had weak tea when it was forced upon me, but that was all. I'd stopped counting her breaths, lest I drive myself mad, and I'd been through every Canticle of the Chant a half-dozen times. The Maker had to hear me. He had to.

Anders retreated. Murmurs started behind me, but I ignored them. I held Kiann's hand in mine and pressed her knuckles against my forehead as the words of the Canticle of Transfigurations fell from my lips.

_"The Light shall lead her safely  
Through the paths of this world, and into the next.  
For she who trusts in the Maker, fire is her water.  
As the moth sees light and goes toward flame,  
She should see fire and go towards Light.  
The Veil holds no uncertainty for her,  
And she will know no fear of death, for the Maker  
Shall be her beacon and her shield, her foundation and her sword."_

"Alistair."

I blinked and looked up, startled. A familiar, beloved face looked down at me, her bright blue eyes glistening. "Wynne?" My voice was barely more than a breathy rasp.

The old mage nodded and placed a hand on my head, brushing my unkempt hair. Her gaze was full, and my own tears welled in response. My throat closed painfully.

"She's dying, Wynne."

Wynne nodded again, the corners of her mouth twitching downward. "I know, son."

"I can't..." I shook my head, the words lodging in my throat. "I can't..."

"Oh, Alistair."

She held her arms open and I tumbled into them, crying like a child. I'd cried so many tears, quiet streams of grief, I shouldn't have had more. She held my shaking shoulders tightly, and I felt the tremors in her body that said she was crying as well. My heart was broken. Ripped in two. And she understood. She didn't try to tell me everything would be all right, she didn't lie to ease my pain.

After an age, my sobs quieted. She pressed a kiss to my head and pulled away. "You need to eat something, son."

I turned away from the reproach in her eyes to stare at Kiann again. "What's the point?"

"For shame, Alistair." She crossed her arms over her chest. "Do you think she would want you to waste away beside her? After everything she's done for this country, do you think she would want its King to follow her so soon?"

"I don't want to be King without her." I squeezed my wife's limp hand.

"That's too bad." She laid a hand on my cheek, none-too-gently, and pulled my eyes to hers, a scolding look on her face. "You _are_ the King. Ferelden needs you. So you need to eat, you need to wash, and you need to come back to us." Her gaze softened. "Please, Alistair. I don't want to have to mourn the both of you." She untangled my fingers from Kiann's with deft hands and gently pushed me out of the chair and away from the bed. "I'll stay with her. You go and take care of yourself."

I hesitated. "Wynne--"

"_Go_, young man."

Dipping my head, I gave in. "Yes, ma'am."

A pair of guards trailed behind me as I walked down the hall to my quarters unsteadily. Not the quarters in which Kiann had been attacked; these were smaller, less suited to the Commander or to royalty, but I didn't care. It wasn't like I'd spent any time in them anyway. I spared a moment's effort to wonder what the guards thought of their broken King, and decided I didn't care. I was a man, and only that.

Wash, Wynne had said. A bath had already been drawn, so sure was she that I would do her bidding. Just like old times, gently henpecking the companions until we acquiesced. So I bathed, my movements automatic and unthinking. I barely felt the heated water against my skin. Stubble was thickening into a full beard on my face; I rubbed a hand over it, debating if the effort of shaving was worthwhile, and I decided not. I'd wait, until... I'd wait, and then maybe as I was shaving, the razor could accidentally slip--

I jerked upright in the bath, the water splashing noisily, and cradled my head in my hands. Maker's breath. My limbs trembled as I fought to bring myself back from that darkness. If Kiann knew I'd even thought that...

Wynne was right. My wife wouldn't want me to waste away beside her. In fact, I had no doubt that if I showed up at the Maker's side shortly after her, I would wish I'd gone to the Black City instead. I didn't want to go on without her. My heart twisted horribly at the thought that soon--too soon--she'd be gone. I'd be alone. But only for the next twenty-some-odd years. If there was one time the Wardens' curse was truly a blessing, I supposed this was it.

I scrubbed my hands over my face. Well, from suicidal thoughts to black humor. That was an improvement, right?

A simple meal awaited me on the table by the fireplace. Bread, cheese, tea, and crackers. Easy, comforting food. I grabbed a slice of the cheese and chewed. It tasted like sawdust, as did the bread, and the crackers. But it assuaged the emptiness in my stomach for the time-being.

A knock sounded on the door and I considered ignoring it. The bed looked terribly inviting; just to stretch out in, if not to actually sleep. But the knock sounded again, and I reluctantly bade whomever it was to enter.

Arl Eamon strode in. My brows drew low. "Why are you here?" I blinked and shook my head. "I'm sorry, I--"

"My boy, in this of all times, you can be forgiven for a lack of propriety. Commander Oghren summoned me. I arrived two days ago, but I'm not surprised you didn't realize it." He walked over to me, his steps purposeful, and laid his hands on my shoulders. I looked up at the face of the man I'd once considered as close to a father as I was going to get to see concern and worry written across his features. He frowned. "I won't say you look well."

"I'm not." I turned back to my repast as Eamon's hands left me, and waved him toward the seat across the table. "Help yourself. I'm not very hungry."

"But at least you're eating. Maker's mercy, Alistair, you had me worried."

"Afraid you were going to lose your pet king?" I winced the moment the words left my lips. "I'm sorry, my lord. I'm all...rough edges. It feels like--"

"You've been broken and put back together wrong."

I stared at him, then nodded slowly. "Exactly. How..."

"Grief is a horrible thing. It can twist you up inside, turn you into someone you're not. When Isolde died..." The Arl's voice was quiet, subdued enough that I could barely hear him over the crackling of the fire. Eamon gazed into the flames, memories etched across his face. "Because of her scheming and plotting and the lies she told to protect our son, she harmed the very people we were sworn to care for. How could I forgive her for that? And yet, she died nobly. I loved her, and I missed her, and Andraste forgive me, I hated her horribly. Both for what she'd done, and for leaving me."

Bitterness rose in my throat as I acknowledged the truth of his words. I didn't want to, but, Maker, yes--there was a kernel of hatred in my chest, hatred that Kiann had promised me that she would always be with me, and she'd lied. She'd _lied_. We wouldn't take our Calling together. We wouldn't leave this world hand-in-hand.

"I don't want to hate her. I just--" I broke off, clearing my gruff throat. "I just don't know how to go on without her."

"You'll learn how to, because you have to." He leaned forward, placing a large hand on my knee. "But, Alistair...you need to let her go, son."

My eyes shot to his, and his meaning was clear. "No. Eamon, I--" I shook my head vehemently. "No."

"The mages themselves have said they're only prolonging the inevitable. You know this." He shifted, moving back, deeper into his seat. "Let her go to the Maker, son."

I jumped to my feet and staggered away. The chair I'd been in tipped and crashed to the floor. Panic threatened to choke me. "Don't ask me to do that. Sweet Maker, Eamon. I can't. I won't! There's always a chance--"

Eamon rose as well. His words sank into my soul like shards of glass. "There is no chance, and you well know it. You're being selfish, Alistair. You're not thinking about what's best for her, or for the kingdom."

"What does Ferelden have to do with this?" I demanded, fury starting to outweigh the grief and horror at his suggestion.

"Ferelden factors into everything you do now, lad. Everything. The nation knows what happened here, Alistair." Eamon crossed his arms over his chest. "The Chantry was quick to spread the word."

"The Chantry--" The rage that had been bubbling exploded full force. "_They dare?_"

"They have said the Maker has made His will known by striking down the Mage Queen, and that the King acts against His wishes." The Arl shrugged his shoulders. "Some believe it. Most don't, but...that number dwindles with each passing day. And, Alistair--" He broke off and looked at the floor.

Worry spiked through me. "What is it?"

"I didn't want to throw all of this at you at once, and not when I didn't know for sure. You need time to reacclimatize--"

"Eamon," I growled, "what is it?"

"There have been reports--unsubstantiated reports--of unusual activity at Jader. I've sent scouts to verify whether the reports are true, and if so, if it's the Orlesian army gathering, or the Chantry's templars." He pressed his lips into a tight line. "Or both."

I stumbled back and fell to my ass on the floor as my knees gave out. The Arl jerked forward, his hand outstretched, but I waved him off. "An invasion?"

"We don't know, yet." He folded his arms across his chest again. "Possibly. I wouldn't put it past the Empress to invade under the cover of an Exalted March; she'd have the support of the other Andrastian nations for that."

My lungs seized, refusing to draw air. Suddenly all the stories I'd heard about the Orlesian occupation came flooding back. The brutality, the horrors, the servitude. My father had fought for years against the oppression, to force the usurper king from the throne, and he'd succeeded--but only after suffering great losses. With Ferelden still weak from the Blight, with the Bannorn and the army still recovering and rebuilding...oh, Maker, could we resist?

"When will we know?" I braced my elbow against my upraised knee, and pressed my palm against my forehead.

"I'm expecting word any time now. The scouts were instructed to send their report via carrier pigeon."

The pigeon would return to Denerim, and a messenger would be sent to the Arl. A plan began to form in my mind, should the courier bring the worst information. I pushed myself to my feet and straightened. "Tell me as soon as you hear anything, Eamon."

The Arl nodded, and I saw approval in his eyes. "I will, your Majesty. About what I mentioned earlier--"

I held up a hand, stalling his words. "That's not your decision. I appreciate your input, as always, but..." A deep breath shuddered into my lungs.

Eamon just watched me for a moment, then nodded again. "I understand. But, Alistair, as difficult as it is, you need to remember something my sister once shared with me."

Queen Rowan, the woman on whom my father had cheated to sire me. I pressed my eyes closed for an instant. "What is that?"

"I'd questioned, once, how Maric could be so cold in some of his decisions. Her reply was simply that 'being a king and being a man are not always the same thing.'"

A sad smile quirked my lips. "So I'm discovering."

###

The courier arrived less than two hours later, road-stained and breathless. The activity at Jader was indeed the military. Ten divisions of Chevaliers thus far, and a smaller contingent of templars, with more arriving daily.

I stared at Eamon as he told me. Oghren and Nate Howe stood next to him, their expressions somber. My heart pounded against my breastbone at the knowledge of what I needed to do. I refused to let my anguish show on my face, however; what the Arl had said earlier was true, as much as I hated it. Ferelden didn't need me to be a man in mourning. It needed me to be its King.

"Send word to the dwarves and the Dalish that Ferelden needs their aid once again." My voice was strong, now, my fears and heartache locked away for the moment. "Tell them that the Warden lays dying because of the Chantry's treachery, and the King rides to take vengeance. I need their strength. As soon as we are done here, send messengers as well to Highever, Gwaren, and the arlings. Ferelden marches to war once again. Commander Oghren."

"Aye, your Majesty?"

I almost blinked at that--the dwarf had never addressed me by my title. A first time for everything, I supposed. "I know I have no right to ask for the Wardens' assistance. This has nothing to do with the darkspawn--"

"If you think I would abandon you now, you don't sodding know me, do you? She is one of us, and I'm not walking away. She saw in me something that no one else did, the blighter." The Commander narrowed his eyes. "The Wardens ride with the King, and if the First Warden don't like it...well, he can kiss my arse."

I let out the breath I hadn't realized I'd been holding and nodded. "Thank you." I looked down for a moment, my teeth gritted, as I evaluated my planned action. No, I had to do this. They'd left me no choice. "Henceforth, let it be known that the Ferelden Chantry is separate from that of Val Royeaux. I do not wish to deny my people their right to worship the Maker, but I will not have an enemy organization operating within Ferelden's borders. The templars, revered mothers, sisters, brothers, and so forth must swear fealty to Ferelden's King in addition to their oaths to the Maker, and renounce all loyalty to the Divine. If they choose not to, they shall be imprisoned for the security of the nation. Is that understood?"

Eamon had paled, but he nodded sharply. "Yes, your Majesty."

"See it is made so, then. And one more thing, Eamon." I let some of the fury ever-present in my gut trickle forth. "The Grand Cleric and her templars don't get to make a choice. They go to Fort Drakon immediately."

"Understood, your Majesty."

"Good. Oghren, can your men be ready to march by morning?"

"You bet your ass we will be," the dwarf rumbled. "Uh, your Majesty."

"Then we leave for Highever just past dawn. Make sure that messenger leaves now; I don't want to catch Teyrn Fergus off-guard." I glanced at the door to Kiann's chamber. Now came the hardest part of all.

A hand clapped against my arm and I looked over, surprised to see it belonged to Nate. "You're not alone, Alistair," he said gruffly. "Before you were King, you were our brother, and we stand with our own."

I swallowed past a sudden lump in my throat and inclined my head. "Thank you, Nate. That--it means a lot."

He nodded and withdrew his hand, then the three men retreated down the hall to undertake the tasks I'd set before them. I pushed open the door beside me and slipped inside. It was probably my imagination, but Kiann seemed paler than she had even a few moments ago, when Eamon had summoned me into the corridor.

Wynne glanced over at me, a wan smile on her lips. "Gathering yet another army, young man?"

"Eavesdropping is rude, you know."

"But terribly useful." She reached for my hand and I gave it to her, welcoming her warm grasp. "Don't feel guilty. You have to do what you must."

My lips twisted. "Like a good Grey Warden."

"Like a good King."

I sucked in a breath, then blurted out the question I'd been afraid to voice. "Is there any hope, Wynne? Any at all?"

"Oh, Alistair, there's always hope." She patted my hand. "If we give up hope, we give up everything. Anders and I will do what we can. If there is any way to bring her back, I promise you, we will. But I won't lie to you. You know we can only do so much. If the Maker calls her...when he does..."

I clenched my jaw, holding back the grief that wanted to spew forth. I didn't have that luxury, not anymore. "Thank you for staying with her, Wynne. I'd like to be alone now."

"Of course, son." She rose from the chair and squeezed my hand before leaving the room quietly.

I just watched Kiann for a moment, memorizing the curve of her cheek, the lines of the tattoo that had surprised me when it had appeared one morning, almost like magic. I'd learned later that she'd had Zevran ink her in order to camouflage the scars on her face from the horrible attack at Lake Calenhad, but also to mark her as separate from the girl she'd once been. I hadn't realized then exactly what had transpired. I'd been innocent in so many ways that had nothing to do with me being a virgin. The idea that men could do what they'd done to her--simply for the fact that she was a mage, and an elf--I still couldn't comprehend it. More unbelievable, though, was that she'd succeeded in the seemingly impossible job that had been before us, despite it all.

Sweet Maker, she was special. So special. And she never saw it in herself.

"I have to go," I whispered as I sat down and took her placid hand in mine. "I'm the one gathering the army this time, but I'd give anything for it to be you, instead. You're much prettier; you'd make a better figurehead. I don't know when I'll return. I won't--I won't ask for you to wait for me. Stay as long as you can, but, if you must go..." I leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her forehead. "Twenty-five years isn't so long, in the grand scheme of things, is it?" My eyes burned, and I squeezed them shut. I breathed in her scent, a light, airy aroma that always reminded me of a rose garden. "I love you, Kiann. Always."


	10. The Pale of Dawn

**The Pale of Dawn**

Mist lingered on the road between Amaranthine and Highever, even when the sun should have burned it away. Tendrils snaked through the horses' legs like insubstantial snakes, and I couldn't shake the aura of creepiness. I found myself casting about for darkspawn, the regular checks an automatic response to the general feeling of unease. But there was nothing, and none of the other Wardens seemed concerned.

At my back marched the contingent of my guards who had traveled to the Vigil, plus Oghren's force, a hundred-strong. It wasn't much of any army, not yet, but it was a start. Eamon had ridden for Denerim at the same time we'd left for Highever, to oversee the necessary changes in the capitol. Part of me thought that perhaps I should be the one operating out of Denerim, but we'd agreed that my place was at the head of the army. He knew how to be an administrator; I knew how to be a warrior. I prayed he would be safe as he implemented my proclamation.

The gates to the northern port city were already open as we approached, and my retinue was greeted by rows of Highever's men, their armor gleaming, their stances straight and strong. Fergus Cousland met us at the entrance to the castle, his face somber. I noted, however, that his limp had completely disappeared. An image of Kiann working her magic danced through my head, but I couldn't indulge in the memory. Resolutely, I pushed it aside.

"Your Majesty." He crossed his arms over his chest and bowed his head. "Please accept my best wishes for your wife's recovery."

I hopped down from my horse, forcing my legs not to react to suddenly being on firm ground again. "She won't recover, Fergus," I said bluntly, handing off the reins to a page that trotted up.

"She--" The Teyrn blinked, frowning. "When I heard she was alive following the attack, I assumed that meant she was regaining her strength. That's not so?"

I clenched my jaw for an instant, then relaxed the muscles. "Kiann is dying. The mages have assured me it is only a matter of time, so I…I've said my goodbyes."

"Maker's breath, Alistair." Fergus stumbled sideways a step at the impact of the news. "How long?"

"Not long." I narrowed my eyes. "We ride to war, Teyrn Fergus."

"So your message said. I won't lie, your Majesty." His gaze was troubled. "This is not an action I ever expected to take. But Highever stands at your side, as always. My men are ready to march."

I inclined my head. "Thank you."

Fergus's brows twitched as he considered me, then he nodded as well. "Come, your Majesty. Dinner awaits. And then, perhaps, you could fill in some of the details of what's transpired? I've heard the main points, but…sweet Andraste. I'm so sorry, Alistair." The Teyrn clapped a hand to my shoulder, a breach of protocol from what Eamon kept trying to drill into me, but the man seemed to put as much weight on blasted noble propriety as I did.

I let his sympathy wash over me but refused to let it sink in. When this was over…when it was done…then I would allow myself the luxury of mourning. "Thank you, Fergus," I said, my voice even and clear. "Supper would be most welcome after our hard ride today."

"To the dining room, then." The Teyrn gestured for me to precede him, and we ventured into Highever Castle.

###

She angled her face toward the sky, basking in the warmth of the sun. Wind played with the soft strands of her hair, pushing them to caress her face like a lover's fingers. The tips of her ears poked through the russet length and I just barely resisted the urge to reach out and tweak one of them. She hated that, most of the time. In bed, though…in bed, attention given to her ears made her melt and moan, which in turn did crazy things to me. My breath caught as sorrow flashed through me, but it didn't last. The sun was warm, the breeze was gentle, and we'd managed to steal some time, just the two of us.

"Do you know, I don't think we've ever gone on a picnic before."

I looked up from pouring Kiann a glass of wine and smiled. "It's a perfect day for it."

She took the goblet and sipped, her eyes twinkling at me over the rim. "This is quite the lovely picture."

"Isn't it?" I leaned back on my elbows, enjoying being in regular clothes instead of armor or those gaudy noblemen's outfits they wore at court. The deep blue of the sky was marred only by wisps of clouds, and they added to its perfection rather than detracting from it. "I wish we had more days like this."

My wife's eyes darkened and she looked down at her goblet. "Me too."

I wondered at the sudden change in her mood for a moment, but just a moment. She suddenly looked up at me and closed the distance between us, straddling me and taking my mouth with a fervor that shocked me. After a moment's hesitation, I returned her fire with some of my own, my arms skimming up her ribs to her full breasts…

Wait. When had we gotten undressed?

"Kiann," I breathed against her lips. Her core rubbed against my hard length and I nearly forgot what I wanted to say, why it was important. I grabbed her upper arms and held her away. "Kiann, how…?"

She pressed forward, and I let her. She brushed her lips against mine, a sad, soft gesture. "It's a dream, love."

"A dream?" I pushed her away once more and stared at her. I could feel the heat of the sun on my naked body. Her scent and that of the grass and the earth surrounded us. Where we were nearly joined, I could feel the slickness of her, the pulsing of her need and mine.

"A dream." She leaned forward, straining against my hold, and kissed me once again. "Don't waste it."

"But…" I groaned as her tongue danced with mine. Her hips moved, and I slid along her opening, and, Maker, it felt so damn good. So damn _right_. "No…you're not real. You're a demon of some kind. A…_sweet Andraste_," I moaned as she lifted her hips and sheathed me in one stroke.

"Alistair, you're not a mage," she said, her breathing uneven as she rode me. "And you're in the Fade on your own. No demons can reach you."

My fingers tightened on her hips and I stared up at her, my heart in my throat. "Kiann? It's really you?"

"Yes, love." Her voice carried the same sadness lodged in my throat. "It's me."

"Oh, holy Maker." I rose up and gathered her close, pressing kisses to her face, her neck, everywhere I could reach. My hands cupped her cheeks. "I thought I'd lost you."

"Alistair." She nuzzled my neck, her teeth nipping along my collarbone. "Make love to me. Please."

Carefully, tenderly, I pushed her back onto the grass. It was as soft as any feathery mattress I'd slept on, and the smell of earthy, green things was the perfect accompaniment to what we were doing. I moved inside of her in long, slow, easy strokes, kissing her thoroughly, whispering nonsense words of love. I wanted it to last, forever if it could, but the hitching breaths emanating from her lips, the whimper-cries told me she was cresting, and spurred me to increase my tempo.

"Love you, Kiann." The words tumbled from my lips over and over again, as if saying them would convince her to stay with me. "I love you. I love you so much."

She came with a cry and a sob, her hands clutching into my back. I welcomed the sting of her fingernails, because it meant that this was more than just a dream; this was real, this was happening between the two of us. If nothing else, the Maker had given us a little more time.

My own climax overtook me suddenly and I thrust deeply inside of her. Her legs wrapped around my hips, holding me to her as tight as she could as the aftershocks of her orgasm thundered through her. Her muscles rippled around me, sending additional bursts of pleasure though my body.

I shifted onto my side, withdrawing, and pulled my wife into my arms. She draped herself across my chest, bonelessly, in a position we'd shared so many times before.

"You'd think I'd recognize the Fade," I murmured, pressing a kiss to her soft hair. My arms banded about her, holding her in place, as if my hold alone could keep us together.

"You didn't before, remember?" She kissed my chest, nuzzled me just under my collarbone. "You were absolutely convinced you were in your sister's kitchen, and she was making pies for dinner. I must say, you were awfully cute."

"Cute?" I sighed, my lips curving just a little. "I suppose there are worse things to be called. And if I recollect," I said, my voice deepening in mock anger, "you did say some other not-so-nice things about my intelligence."

"You were _this_ close to not believing me, Alistair." She pushed her head up, crossing her arms over my chest so she could look me in the eye. "I was frustrated."

"You're forgiven. Just--" Reality crashed down on me, stealing my breath and the afterglow. "Don't leave me, Kiann."

Her mouth twitched downwards. "I don't want to, love. Please believe that. But…I can't quite find my way back. I'm there, and yet I'm not. I heard you, and I hear Anders and Wynne, and, Maker's breath, I want to open my eyes so badly, but I can't. I can't, damn it."

"But why…" I sucked in a breath, not knowing if I wanted the answer to my question, but I forged ahead anyway. "Why are you here? Now? Is this…is this goodbye?" My voice cracked on the last.

She flattened her palm against my cheek, her grey eyes stormy with sorrow. "No. Not…not yet, anyway. I'm still breathing, and as long as I am, I will come to you, here. If you sleep…which you haven't been doing much of, lately."

"Oh. Good point." My sleep had been restless, hardly worthy of the name, and I guess it had kept me from the Fade. "You're here now, I'm here now, and I refuse to waste any of our moments together, Kiann." I gently flipped her onto her back and watched her for a handful of heartbeats before tenderly kissing her.

"I was hoping you would say that, my love," she whispered, her eyes full. "But, Alistair…Zevran is waiting for you."

I frowned. "What?"

And I was looking shadows spilling across my empty bed instead of my wife's tattooed face. No. Not yet. I wasn't ready to go. I pounded a fist into the mattress as a growl of frustration and loss rose in my throat.

"Your Majesty."

I launched myself out of bed and had my hand around the assassin's throat before he could dart away. My fingers squeezed, just enough to let the elf know I could crush his windpipe if I chose to. Zevran's light hazel eyes bore into mine, and I saw nothing there but understanding.

"I interrupted a good dream, I take it?" he said, his low voice the only indication of his discomfort.

The grasp on his throat tightened briefly before I released him, shoving him away from me. "Give me one reason not to call my guards," I growled.

"Because I would be gone before they were able to dash to your rescue. Alistair…" The elf surprised me by crumpling back against the wall, his head bowed. "I had no idea they would continue trying after I refused to honor the contract."

"So it _was_ the Chantry that hired you." It didn't shock me.

"It was. When the Grand Cleric summoned me, she told me that Teyrn Cousland was working against the best interests of the nation. I suspected that the real reason she wanted him dead was that she wanted _you_ on the throne. And that would be a good thing, no? I _assumed_…" His eyes narrowed and he shook his head. "I assumed I had the most up-to-date information on the situation after Anora's unfortunate accident. I knew you'd been put forth as her successor and you'd tentatively accepted it, but I had not heard about your intentions regarding Kiann. If I had known, Alistair…"

I leaned against one of the bedposts, my arms crossed over my bare chest. "Why are you here, Zev?"

He glanced up at the nickname reserved for friends, and some of the self-torment in his eyes lessened. "To right wrongs and do good deeds, of course. All of the things you and Kiann introduced me to so long ago."

I arched a brow. "You want to join my army?"

"No, your Majesty." He bowed down with a flourish. "The Antivan Crows wish to join your army."

"The--_what_?" I blinked. "The whole order? Zev--" My hands fell to my sides. "I'm flattered, but…is that smart?"

"No less intelligent than accepting a contract without the entire picture clear to me, my friend." The elf's lips curved in a self-deprecating smile. "You are gathering your forces just past Orzammar, yes? The Crows shall be there when you need us. Perhaps before you do. Maybe we can strike some fear and confusion amidst the enemy."

"Zev, I--" I took a deep breath, then reached out my hand for him to grasp. "Thank you."

He clasped my forearm. "Alistair, it is the very least I can do. The Chantry will not escape justice on this. I swear it." He turned to the window.

"You can go out the door." I chuckled.

"And raise questions about the King's sexual inclinations?" Some of the familiar light returned to the assassin's eyes as my smile dropped. "If you insist."

I cleared my throat. "Right. Out the window with you, then."

Zev's shoulders shook with silent laughter as he left the way he'd entered.

I sank into a chair by the softly glowing fireplace and cradled my head in my hands. Zevran risked an incredible amount to break the traditional non-partisanship of his organization and get involved in political dealings outside of Antiva. Certainly, the Crows were known to take contracts on either side of a war, but to openly ally themselves with one of the nations…. Maker, I hoped he knew what he was doing.

The bed called to me, the knowledge that I might be able to find my way back to Kiann a strong temptation. But false dawn lit the eastern sky, and there was no time for selfish indulgences.

"Soon, love," I whispered, and rose from the chair to prepare for the day.


	11. Realizations

_A/N: Thank you for your patience in waiting for this chapter. It proved exceptionally difficult to get down, for some reason. But, here it is!_

---

**Realizations**

Each day we marched across the northern edge of Ferelden, my army growing with volunteers taken from the Bannorn landholdings along the Imperial highway and further afield. It was a rag-tag collection of men and women, but they were eager. They were willing. That had to count for something. I couldn't help but be reminded of the army Kiann had led only five years before. Its composition had been much the same--largely untrained and under-armored would-be soldiers--and yet because of it we'd ended the fifth Blight more quickly than any previous darkspawn incursion in history. The cost had been terribly high, though. And I wasn't naïve enough to think there wouldn't be a cost here. Some of these people would not be returning to their homes, and their deaths would be entirely my fault. The responsibility crouched heavily on my shoulders, reminding me why I'd never wanted to be King.

By night, though, I was able to escape, if only for a little bit. Kiann found me in the Fade. Invariably, we made love, reaffirming our connection, and afterwards I held her tightly, unwilling to let her go even for an instant. It was always she that pushed me to awaken with a laugh and a gentle kiss, and a promise that I would see her again. I tried to carry that stolen happiness with me into the daylight hours, but it was bittersweet. Our nocturnal rendezvous would not last forever. We both knew it, though we never spoke of it. All I could do was make sure that she knew how I felt, so when she...

I blinked and turned my attention back to the road.

As we approached Lake Calenhad, my scouts returned with word that a force of templars and mages awaited us closer to the lake. I pulled the army to a halt, and Fergus, Oghren and Nate joined me for an impromptu conference.

"What do you think?" I glanced at the Wardens and the Teyrn, then turned back to watch the horizon.

"Hard to say." Oghren blew out a breath, ruffling his red moustache. "They could be allies, waitin' to join us."

"I think the chances of that are about as good as the Grand Cleric deciding to swear fealty to me," I muttered.

"Unfortunately, I'd have to agree with that sentiment," Fergus said with a grimace.

My lips twisted as I considered the possibilities. There were only two, really: either the templars and mages wanted to join us, or their intention was to stop us. It wasn't that odd of an idea that the mages would be working with the templars instead of against them and the Chantry. The annulment of the Circle during the Blight had changed a great deal about how the Tower was run. There was more religious training for the mages, more discipline, and, for the most part, the mages seemed to buy into the same doctrine I'd been forced to digest as a templar initiate. There weren't many full mages yet; the last I heard, the apprentices far outnumbered their more senior counterparts, and few had survived or even attempted the Harrowing.

But none of that helped me to decide what we should do. Not that I really had much choice.

"We continue onward. Tell the men to be prepared." I straightened in my saddle. "Either we'll be adding to our numbers, or we'll be entering into battle."

"Yes, your Majesty," Fergus said with a slight bow. He kneed his horse away to speak with the soldiers.

I glanced back at the Wardens and suddenly wished I'd broken my vows to the Grand Cleric years ago and trained some of them in the templar talents. We could certainly use that expertise now. Kiann had asked me if I could train others shortly after we'd left Lothering, but I'd put her off, and she hadn't pursued it. Hindsight being what it was, it was a decision I definitely regretted.

We continued down the road, our pace steady. Tension rose like a tangible thing as the miles fell away. The soldiers surrounding me fidgeted, their fingers brushing their weapons in reassurance as they scanned the horizon, mimicking my own watchful gaze. I wanted to avoid this battle with everything I had in me, but I knew there was no way to skirt the army waiting for us. We had to go through them. I began considering and discarding strategies, trying to recall my templar training and what actions they might take.

Too soon, we crested a gentle rise to see the army arranged before us. It wasn't large; perhaps fifty men and women, and only a handful of mages, but they were well-armed and -armored, and their stances were battle-ready.

I pulled my army to a stop and waved Oghren and Nate forward. "Well, let's go greet these fine people, shall we?"

Teyrn Fergus angled his horse over to mine. "Your Majesty, perhaps it would be best if you hung back?"

"What, and miss the fun?" I gave the nobleman a rueful smile. "I appreciate the concern, Fergus, but if I can't face this threat, how will I be able to face the Empress or the Divine? Oghren, you're with me. Fergus, ensure the archers are prepared...just in case. I'm hopeful, but I'm not stupid."

With that, Oghren and I, and a pair of my guards, broke away from the bulk of my army to meet the templars. Greagoir stood at the front of the force, his face heavily lined and his eyes weary. I'd heard rumors that he had been planning on retiring. Cullen, the broken young man we'd rescued from atop the Tower during Uldred's siege, waited at Greagoir's right side; on his left was a mage I didn't know.

"You look fatigued, Knight-Commander," I said in lieu of a greeting.

Greagoir shook his head. "That I am, your Majesty, that I am. I don't believe you've met First Enchanter Wesson. He joined us from the Circle in Val Royeaux."

Interesting that Greagoir would mention that. I didn't let any of my puzzlement appear on my face, however, and only nodded politely. "Good day. Greagoir, I appreciate the chance to exchange pleasantries, but I'm in a bit of a hurry."

"I understand that, King Alistair, and I apologize for delaying you."

My eyes narrowed. "What is it, then? I trust you've been made aware of my proclamation?"

"Yes. We received word from Denerim a few days ago."

"And?" I shifted in the saddle. "What shall it be? Should I prepare my army?"

"Only to receive us, your Majesty." He bowed his head. "The templars of the Fereldan Circle hereby pledge their allegiance to the Crown, and disavow the actions of the Divine."

I blinked. "Really?"

The smallest hint of a smile appeared on the Knight-Commander's face as he met my eyes again. "Yes, really."

"Wait." Wesson's brows drew low over his dark eyes. "You said nothing of this when we left Kinloch Tower. This is preposterous. The Circle belongs to the Chantry."

"Not the Fereldan Circle," Greagoir stated. "Not anymore."

"You would recognize this fool of a King and turn your back on the Divine and the Maker himself?" The mage's eyes blazed with fury.

I gritted my teeth and prepared myself to use my templar's talents.

"I would, and I shall," Gregoir said. He turned to me. "Furthermore, your Majesty, I think you should read this." He held out a sheaf of parchment. I took it, my fingers tingling at the touch of magic. My eyes whipped to the Knight-Commander's. "A templar had been entrusted to deliver this letter to the Circle in Val Royeaux. He was waylaid by bandits and brought to the Tower for recovery. After the news of what happened at Amaranthine reached us, he gave it to me."

I unfolded the paper, only to find it blank.

"It's enchanted," Greagoir explained. "Cleanse the area, and you'll be able to read it."

I did as the Knight-Commander instructed, and ink instantly became visible. My anger grew as I scanned the document. I glared at Wesson. "How long has the Chantry been working against Ferelden?" I demanded. "According to this, you and the other mages weakened the balcony at the Blight celebration, with the hope you'd kill as many nobles as possible. Who ordered this? The Grand Cleric? Empress Celene? Who?"

Wesson tensed his jaw and met my gaze unwaveringly. "I do not answer to you."

Greagoir jerked his chin at the other templars, who had already fastened their hands on the few mages in the crowd. They dragged them forward. "These are the mages that accompanied Wesson to the celebration."

I nodded, my insides turning to ice as I realized what I had to do. "It doesn't matter who instructed you, does it? I know who my enemies are. Knight-Commander, I hereby order the execution of these men and women." Maker help me. I didn't have the luxury of offering these half-dozen souls a trial or a chance to explain themselves. The letter was addressed to the Empress's chancellor, and the fact that it could only be read after a templar cleansed the magic insinuated strongly that the Chantry was heavily involved as well.

Greagoir's eyes glittered. He nodded once, offering me a quick bow, his arms crossed over his chest. "It will be done."

I swung my horse around, unwilling to watch the end of the mages' lives. The sound of swords slicing through flesh was unmistakable, however, and my stomach clenched. I suddenly wanted it to be night so I could escape into my dreams and hold Kiann, and forget that more blood was on my hands.

###

We camped just past Lake Calenhad. The templars had melded into the ranks with barely a ripple, though they did keep themselves somewhat separate. I watched Greagoir and his men partake in evening prayers, and sighed. There but for the grace of the Maker. Would I have been encouraged to take the throne if I'd been a templar and addicted to lyrium? Would I have leaped at the chance, if it meant getting away from that life?

Shaking my head at my thoughts, I climbed into my tent, forced my breathing to even out, and was asleep in moments.

I awoke to birds chirping a greeting to the sun. Rolling onto my back, I stretched, reflecting that I felt more rested than I had in days. In the midst of scrubbing my hands over my eyes, I froze.

Kiann hadn't come to me.

Oh, Maker, no. Please, no.

I scrambled to my feet, pulling on a linen shirt and leather breeches, along with my boots, which I didn't bother to lace. Bursting into the early morning stillness of the camp, I cast my gaze around, looking for something. I didn't know what. Some sign? Some indication that what I thought had happened, had?

"Alistair? Are you ill?"

I blinked and stared at Fergus for a moment without really registering who I was looking at. The Teyrn had paused in walking by my tent, presumably on his way to the fire for breakfast. "Have there been any messages, Fergus? Any word at all?"

"From Amaranthine? No, your Majesty, not that I'm aware of." His eyes grew concerned. "Why?"

"I--" I sank to the ground, and Fergus rushed forward, calling for help. "No, I--I'm all right. I knew...I knew it would happen, but I thought we'd have a little more time. Just a little..."

"Begging your pardon, Alistair, but you're not making any sense."

I chuckled softly, sadly. Grief unfurled within me. I wanted to scream. I wanted to cry. I wanted to thank the Maker for releasing her. And a small part, like I'd shared with Eamon, wanted to hate her. I shook my head. "I think--I think she's gone, Fergus."

The Teyrn sat down beside me. "You can't be sure. Like I said, we haven't received any word--"

"I know." I closed my eyes, then looked at the ground. "She's been visiting me in my dreams, through the Fade, and last night, she...she didn't come to me."

"The Fade?" Fergus frowned. "My knowledge in that area is sadly limited, but maybe there's another explanation. Some other reason..."

I cupped my forehead in my hands and stared at the dirt. My eyes traced random patterns there, using the minute, repetitive action as a buffer against the emotion that threatened to overwhelm me. I couldn't give in, not now, not when I had the entire country depending on me. Is this what Kiann had felt like after she'd realized what happened at Lake Calenhad? When she'd remembered what those men had done to her? How in the Maker's name had she gone on?

By shutting it off. I understood now. She'd compartmentalized it, shoved it aside by making herself a different person. I could see the appeal in that. If I shaved my head, marked my face, I could pretend I wasn't the Alistair whose heart was breaking. I could pretend I was the King Ferelden needed, and not a man who only wanted to mourn his wife in peace.

Unfortunately, such actions would likely frighten the members of my army rather than inspire them. So I would simply need to press on. Simply. I snorted softly. There was nothing simple about this at all.

"No," I said, looking up and meeting Fergus's eyes. "My wife is dead. And we have a war to fight."


	12. Measures

**Measures**

King Bhelen and his army met us on the road just outside of the entrance to Orzammar. The dwarven king had always made me nervous; there was something in his eyes that told me he would do whatever was necessary to reach his goals. We'd seen it when we'd visited Orzammar during the Blight and done Maker knows how many tasks to win the dwarves' trust. In fact, it had been the reason why we'd supported Lord Harrowmont at the beginning, that uncertainty about Bhelen's methods. When it had come time to crown the next King, however, Kiann had chosen to support Bhelen instead, shocking everyone. But her reasoning made sense; the dwarves needed to change and adapt to survive, and despite his radical approaches to things, Bhelen had the ambition and drive to bring change to Orzammar. We'd seen it in the last few years. The dwarven King had allowed the casteless to serve in the army to earn a place for themselves and, as a result, the numbers of dwarves fighting the darkspawn had swelled. Old thaigs had been reclaimed, the taint driven back. It still amazed me that Kiann had realized the potential benefits of making Bhelen King. Me, I probably would have gone with Harrowmont because he was honorable and kind. It just showed that I needed her at my side.

Maker, how was I going to go on without her?

Fergus, Oghren and Nate were the only ones I'd told about my realization. It was irrelevant to the rest of the army. Much like my wife had done five years ago, I learned to compartmentalize, shoving my grief aside to be dealt with later. It didn't escape me that I was called "your Majesty" more often than not now, even by Fergus and the Wardens. Alistair was forgotten, for the time-being, anyway. I was the King.

I didn't look up from my makeshift desk as someone pushed open the flap of the tent. Before me were sprawled a half-dozen maps of the surrounding area, candlelight flickering over them, and I evaluated each one carefully before moving onto the next. I needed to commit every bit of the land near Jader to memory, so I would be prepared. People were going to die tomorrow; I knew that. But I'd be damned if they were going to die because I'd made a mistake.

"Your Majesty, it's late."

I grunted at Fergus and waved a hand at him without looking up. We'd met up with the rest of my forces earlier in the day, and now had a respectable army camped around us. The Dalish contingent of archers would do quite well atop that bluff, I realized, squinting at the map. The mabari would go in first, to confuse and distract; the templars would focus entirely on the enemies' mages, leaving the rest of the troops to the dwarven and human armies. The cavalry would add to the planned chaos by engaging in quick strikes and withdrawals where they could. I'd pulled out all the training I'd received in warfare from the Chantry, all of the expertise I could glean from Fergus, Oghren and my armies' captains, to pull together this plan. And, Maker, it still didn't feel adequate. What was I missing?

Mages. We had no mages. There were no Harrowed mages at the Tower--other than the few who had conspired against the nobles, and they were now dead--and Greagoir had refused to bring any of the apprentices…not that I could rightfully blame him for that, but it made this battle a sod more difficult. I knew first-hand what a difference mages could make, and without them…

Fergus's hands appeared over the maps I was studying and I blinked up at him, annoyed. His dark brown eyes regarded me steadily, without apology. "You'll be of no use to anyone if you don't get some rest. When was the last time you slept?"

The night Kiann hadn't come to me, two days before? Three? I couldn't remember. I'd caught brief snatches here and there since, but nothing that could really be called sleep.

I shook my head. "I need to make sure I've covered everything."

"You have, your Majesty."

"I need to be sure."

"Alistair. Stop."

My eyes jerked up to Fergus's at the sharp tone of his voice. The older man frowned at me, his disapproval plain.

"If you want to ensure we fail tomorrow, then you stay right there and keep pouring over the same bloody papers until the sun comes up," he said. His jaw tensed for a moment, then he continued. "You need to be the symbol for the men, your Majesty, and if you can barely stay in your saddle because you haven't slept in four days, they'll know." He gathered up the sheaves of paper, stacking them neatly. "Go. Rest."

Four days, then. Huh. I scrubbed a hand over my face. I didn't want to face the emptiness of my sleep, but he was right. I had to rest. I had to prepare myself. "Thank you," I said, rising. "For everything, Fergus, I…well, thank you."

It was his turn to wave a hand at me as I ducked out of my office tent. My sleeping tent wasn't located far, just on the other side of the fire. Fergus's tent was nearby as well, but Nate and Oghren were camped with the rest of the Wardens a stone's throw off. I pushed aside the flap and stepped inside, then froze as I stared at the not-so-inviting bedroll.

_Please, if she won't come to me, let me not dream._ I shucked off my breeches and tossed them in the corner of the tent, but left my shirt on to guard against the night's chill. Crawling under the blanket, I knew that slumber would be elusive; worry and sorrow would keep me awake, certainly.

Sleep claimed me almost as soon as my eyes closed.

###

"Oh, thank the Maker. I found you."

I blinked my eyes open and stared at the face hovering over me, incomprehension dulling my brain. I raised a hesitant hand to caress her cheek and its dark tattoo. "Kiann?" I breathed.

"And who else has been visiting your dreams?" She leveled a mock glare at me. I barely noted it before I pulled her into my arms, crushing her to my chest.

"You're here. You're here," I murmured against her neck. "When you didn't appear a few nights ago, I thought…" I let my voice trail off, unwilling to say what my conclusion had been.

"So you stopped sleeping again." Kiann cuffed a hand gently against my head. I ducked and laughed, just ecstatic that she was in my arms. Her mood sobered, though, after a moment, and she settled against my chest. "I'm getting lost, Alistair. I…can feel it. It seems that every time you wake, I get deeper and deeper into the Fade, and…I'm tiring, love." She leaned her head on my bare chest -- I wasn't shocked to discover my nakedness, since we rarely had need for clothes here -- and sighed.

My arms tightened around her. "If…if you need to…" I pressed a hard kiss to the top of her head as my heart twisted. "If it's time…"

"I just don't know! But is this what death is for mages? Getting lost in the Fade?" Her tone grew thoughtful. "Is this our punishment?"

"Don't talk like that." I stroked her hair away from her brow, my hands a little more forceful than necessary. A chill wound through me at the thought of Kiann wandering the Fade for eternity. She didn't deserve that. No one did, but especially not Kiann, not after everything she'd done. The Chantry said we returned to the Maker's side when we died. If that was true, why would He forsake Kiann? Why would He not welcome her to join Him?

"I just want to come home." I had never heard her sound so exhausted. Even during the Blight, when it seemed we would never get enough rest again, she'd never seemed quite so defeated. A spark of an idea flared in my mind, but I quickly discarded it. Ridiculous.

"Tell me what you've been doing," she said. "I want to hear everything."

So I did. She lay on my chest, her weight inconsequential, and closed her eyes. A slight smile curved her lips as I spoke about the templars and the dwarves and Dalish joining my army. A smile on my own face, I poked her gently as I finished. "What's so amusing?"

"Nothing." She sighed contentedly. "I've missed your voice. I could listen to you read the driest history books in all of Thedas and still enjoy it because of that sexy, sexy voice."

"Sexy voice, is it?" I chuckled. "That's going to swell my ego, you know."

"And other things, too, I see."

I sucked in a breath as she trailed her fingers along my length. Gathering her close, I reversed our positions and made love to her slowly, thoroughly, trying to show her without words what she meant to me. It was really all we had left. She looked up at me, and I saw in her eyes that she knew.

Afterwards, I thought it was funny how I could feel the sweat cooling on my skin, as real as if I was actually with her in my tent. I shivered, and suddenly a blanket drifted down from nothing to cover us. I smiled at my wife, quirking a brow. "Handy, that."

"Mmm."

I wrapped my arms around her under the warm woolen material and held her tightly. After a few moments, she sighed and pushed herself up. "It's almost time," she whispered, nuzzling my chin.

I squeezed her; I couldn't help it. My arms didn't want to release her. "What if you can't find me again? What if you get lost?"

"Have faith, Alistair."

My breath hitched. "No. That's not the answer."

"You can't stay here and anchor me, love. Ferelden needs you."

"I need _you_." I inhaled deeply, drawing the scent of her into my lungs. Cinnamon, like the spice from her usual morning cereal.

"You can go on without me, and you will." She braced her hands against my chest and sat up fully, straddling my stomach. A certain insistent part of me appreciated the view, but I shoved the desire aside.

"What if--" The idea that flared to life earlier re-awoke. Was it even possible? Was I a fool for thinking it? "What if I _could_ anchor you?"

"You can't stay in the Fade, Alistair." She rose and stepped away from me. A sheer robe winked into being and she pulled it over herself.

I sat up and watched her, one of my legs bent with my forearm resting on my knee. "No, I know that. That's not what I'm talking about. What if I were…to…bring you with me?"

"If you were to…what?" She looked at me, a frown marring her forehead. The lines of her tattoo made the expression more severe than she meant it to be, but I was used to it. "Are you talking about…letting me in? Like a demon?"

I grimaced and shrugged. "I was thinking more along the lines of Wynne's Fade spirit. You know, benevolent, helpful. Much nicer than a demon."

She snorted. "That's an idiotic idea."

I met her gaze unwaveringly. "Is it? What if the reason your body is dying is because your spirit has been separated from it? What if, by doing this, I can take you back?"

"Alistair, I'm dying because a templar ran me through."

"And yet you're still alive." I pushed myself to my feet, heedless of my nudity, and grabbed her hands. "Maker's breath, Kiann. I can't condemn you to wandering the Fade forever."

"We don't know that's what will happen." She bit her lip and wouldn't meet my eyes.

"We don't know but that it will!" I clutched her hands. "Kiann, I can't--how can you expect me to go on, knowing that you might be stuck in the Fade? If I knew we'd be reunited again, at the Maker's side, I--" I would accept it. Reluctantly. Screaming inside, even. But this…this, I couldn't.

"Alistair, you don't know what you're suggesting."

"I know better than you think."

Finally, she brought her grey eyes up. "You're volunteering to become an abomination."

"No, that's not it at all." I shook my head, a sad smile on my lips. "I'm no mage, and you're no demon. What I'm volunteering for is to be…well, possessed, I suppose." I snorted. "All right, that doesn't sound much better."

"You could go mad!" She tore her hands out of mine and fell back a few steps. "What if allowing me in drives you insane?"

"I think I'm a little more resilient than that," I said, crossing my arms. "And if it does, I don't think either of us will know enough to care."

"This isn't funny!"

My brows dropped low over my eyes. "Do you see me laughing?"

"No, but you're joking and making smart-ass comments and…just generally being you," she finished with a sigh.

My lips twisted as I stepped forward and pulled her into my arms, my lips pressing against her russet hair. "I can't lose you. I won't, not if I could do something to stop it. I just need to stay sane long enough to get my troops through the battle tomorrow."

"Oh, is that all?"

"It is." I chuckled, barely a rumble that didn't make it past my lips. "I'm willing to take the risk, Kiann. Don't take this decision out of my hands. Please."

"This is insane," she whispered. Her voice was unsteady.

"I won't disagree." I pulled her tightly against me. "But if it gives you a chance to live…"

"I want to say no." Contrary to her words, she pressed closer to me, nuzzling my chest. "Maker help me, I can't. I don't want to die, Alistair, and I certainly don't want to be lost in the Fade. If…if you're sure…"

Sweet Andraste, no, I wasn't. We didn't know what would happen. We didn't know if it was even possible. Maybe we were just setting ourselves up for failure. The alternative, though, was unthinkable.

"I trust you. Unequivocally." I tilted her head up to look at me and kissed her. "I love you, unconditionally. I'm yours, Kiann."

"And I'm yours," she breathed, before kissing me again, more deeply.

I sighed, and closed my eyes, consciously dismantling the mental fortress the Chantry had trained me to maintain. Imaginary brick after brick disappeared, leaving me open, exposed. I wasn't sure what I expected to feel: some sense of invasion, maybe, some feeling of her foreignness.

Instead, all I felt was her mouth on mine, quietly insistent, warm and loving. Eventually, the kiss faded, and I blinked open my eyes to stare at the canvas roof of my tent, lit by the grey light of early dawn.

"Well," Kiann said with my lips. "This is interesting."


	13. Rally

**Rally**

I blinked. It was my voice, but not my words. I could feel Kiann's presence, like comforting source of heat just below my sternum, not unlike the warmth of a sip of brandy on a cool night. It was odd…but not uncomfortable. I rubbed a hand there, absently.

"Don't do that," I whispered.

"Do what?" my voice asked, at normal conversation volume.

Oh, sweet Maker. This had to stop _now_, or the entire army would think their King had gone insane. "Don't talk through me. Do you _want_ the templars to have a reason to strike me down?"

"Oh. Oh! I'm actually speaking aloud?" She paused, and I could picture her chewing on her lower lip as clearly as if she sat before me. "This is very strange, Alistair."

I groaned. "You're telling me."

I felt her presence dim somewhat, the warmth in my chest lessening. A thought drifted across my mind, as light as a kiss on my cheek and just as welcome. _Is this better?_

"Much." I brought my hands up and scrubbed my face.

_Are you all right? In any pain, or anything?_

"No, I'm fine, actually." A small smile curved my lips. "You feel…nice."

_Nice?_ Emotion that wasn't mine swelled: hope and love and happiness.

Another groan left my lips, but for an entirely different reason as my body responded to the feelings coursing through me. "Kiann, love, I'm glad you're happy, but…oh, Maker."

_What? What is it? _A pause, and I imagined her lips stretching in a slow smile. _Oh, I see. Well, this could be fun._

"Fun? Fun? Woman, you're going to kill me." I closed my eyes, my hips moving automatically. I bit back a moan as the bed coverings rasped against me.

_No, never that. __Now, let's see. Keep your eyes closed. Don't break the illusion._

"The illusion?" I had a moment to wonder what she meant before an image of her burst into my mind. Kneeling between my legs. Her mouth--

I bit my lip, hard, to keep her name from tumbling forth. I could _feel_ her tongue, her lips, the warmth of her mouth caressing me. My hands wanted to reach forth and tangle themselves in her hair, but I kept them clenched at my sides, knowing there was nothing there for me to hold onto. A rumble surged forth from my chest as she found the rhythm she knew I liked, her hands stroking me as well. In my mind, she looked up at me, her eyes daring, sultry and full of mirth, and I flew over the edge. I clamped my mouth shut on the cry that wanted to emerge as my body shuddered through its release.

"Holy Maker," I gasped, my eyes fluttering open.

_Mmmm_. Kiann's satisfied murmur purred through my mind. _That was...incredible._

"You felt it too." It was a statement, not a question; I could feel the echo of completion pulsing through her. Again, an odd sensation, but not unwelcome. "I trust you're not going to spring that on me in the middle of a meeting with the Teyrn?"

_That could be interesting, couldn't it?_

I sat up, chuckling, a retrieved a cloth to clean myself up. "Interesting is not quite the term I'd use. Embarrassing, yes. Incredibly inappropriate, definitely."

_Don't worry. I'll save that particular trick for when we're alone in your tent._

I grinned and pulled off my shirt, then paused. "I love you, Kiann. I don't regret this."

There was a long pause, and I wondered for a moment if she'd retreated even further. _I love you, too_, she said, finally._ And I'm glad._

###

By the time I dressed and wolfed down a quick breakfast of lukewarm porridge, Fergus, Oghren, and Nate had gathered in my office tent, eager to review the battle plans. The other leaders of the armies awaited me further afield, I knew, where the troops were amassing and readying for battle.

Fergus gave me a nod, his eyes warm. "You're looking a little more rested, your Majesty."

"I did manage to get a few hours last night, I think." I inclined my head. "Thank you for knocking some sense into me."

"You ready, lad?" Oghren rumbled. "We'll honor her memory, we will."

_Wait, what?_ I could picture Kiann blinking in surprise. _I'm not dead!_

I gritted my teeth to keep from answering her and nodded at the dwarf instead.

_Alistair, tell them I'm not dead. They need to know._

"No," I murmured.

"No?" Fergus frowned.

"No more waiting," I said, louder. "This ends today."

"And so it does," Nate replied with a huffed breath.

_Alistair!_

"Would you excuse me? I...need a moment before I address the troops." I gave the men a quick smile that I knew didn't reach my eyes. Oghren grunted and clapped a hand on my arm before leaving with Nate; Fergus paused, his eyes concerned, but he said nothing before retreating as well, leaving me alone in my office tent.

"Stop," I growled. "Stop it. You cannot be speaking when I am conferring with my army."

_Alistair..._ I could picture the hurt in Kiann's eyes.

"I can't tell them what we've done, because I can't afford any doubt of me or my abilities," I continued, my voice soft but forceful. "They have to trust me, and if they think I've become something even close to an abomination--which I haven't, but they don't know that, and I don't expect them to understand."

There was silence in my mind for a moment before Kiann spoke again, very quietly. _You've changed._

"I know." I blew out a breath and rubbed a hand through my ragged hair. I moved behind my desk and sank into the chair there, suddenly feeling very old. "I had to go on without you, Kiann. I had to learn how to do that, and I--"

_I'm sorry._ A ghost of a touch whispered against my cheek; it was all in my mind, literally, but I wanted to lean into it, to capture her hand, to stop being strong for a few minutes.

"I am, too," I said, closing my eyes. "I'm not the same man I was a month ago. He might be gone forever."

_He's still in here. You haven't lost yourself._

"I'm not so sure."

_I am. __You might not have recognized it in yourself, but I never doubted the kind of king you'd make, Alistair. An amazing one._

The truth of her words, the conviction, rang through my mind, and I couldn't argue against it. It was a waste of time and energy to mourn the person I'd used to be, but I allowed myself the momentary self-indulgence before pushing to my feet. "So. I think we need to figure out the boundaries of this...uh, partnership."

_I promise I'll try to be quiet when you're being kingly._

I chuckled at the contrite tone to her thought. "I think we'd be better prepared if I started to practice ignoring you, love, because I doubt you'll be able to hold your tongue. But that's not really what I meant."

_No?_

"No. We know you can speak through me, and I can feel what you feel, but can you act through me?"

_Oh! I...don't know._ She paused. _I don't know if I really want to. Why would I ever need to do that?_

"I don't know, but it seems to be something we should be aware of in advance. Try it. Try..." I considered a simple action. "Try making me walk a few steps."

_Are you sure, Alistair?_

"Yes." I wasn't, not really--the thought of giving control of myself to her was not quite terrifying, since I trusted her to be gentle, but still.... Giving away control. Of my body. Not a concept I'd ever thought to entertain, to be honest.

A soft rush of emotions cascaded through me, and I knew she understood. _All right, then. Here we go._

The tiny spark of heat behind my sternum flared. Warmth flowed through me, tingling into my extremities, infusing me with something for which I had no words. It was an exquisite sensation of being more than what I was, of being Kiann as well as Alistair, the lines between her essence and mine blurred. My body responded, blood hurrying south, and I couldn't help the low groan that left my lips. It felt so bloody _good_.

Shakily, one leg inched forward of its own volition. No, of Kiann's. I certainly hadn't done it. Instinct prompted me to resist but I refocused on the heat flooding me, giving her the space to operate. I pulsed with need and desire, and I let that overwhelm my thoughts instead of thinking about what she was doing. What I was letting her do.

My other leg jerked forward....

And the warmth receded like a candle blown out. I stumbled and fell to one knee, shaking with sudden cold. My limbs seemed almost leaden, though feeling was quickly returning; but the pinpoint of heat that was Kiann seemed almost non-existent. Panic rose, threatening to choke me.

"Kiann." I wanted to shout her name, but yelling wouldn't make a difference. She didn't hear me, she felt me; and my raised voice would only bring questions I couldn't answer. "Please, Kiann, answer me."

_I--I'm here._ Her thoughts were exhausted, barely audible. A glimmer of humor shone through, though. _I don't think you have to worry about me taking over permanently._

"Are you all right?"

_Drained. I think--I just need to rest._

"Kiann, don't you leave me--"

_I'm not going anywhere,_ she assured me. _I just need to regroup. Did it affect you at all?_

I pushed myself to my feet, a self-deprecating grin stretching my lips. "Other than in the typical male fashion? No. Part of me is glad that isn't an easy task for you; it could be rather embarrassing."

Her chuckle was soft, belying her fatigue. _Just my luck. I find a new way to fluster you, and I won't be able to take advantage of it._

"Thank the Maker." I tried to smile, but couldn't. I wished she were standing in front of me, so I could hold her, comfort her, be comforted.

_Me too._ She sighed. _Go. Speak with your troops. I'll be here._

She faded until I could barely feel her and I struggled against the urge to call her forth, to reassure myself that she wasn't disappearing completely. She was right; I had a job to do. I took a deep breath, straightening my shoulders. With a quick check that nothing was, uh, apparent any longer, I stepped out of my tent to rejoin my companions.

###

Any hope that we'd been mistaken about the Orlesian forces gathering at Jader, or their intentions, fled as I looked down on the would-be field of battle. Hundreds...thousands of men and women faced us across the open expanse of terrain. Plate armor, leather armor, mage's robes--my eyes took in all of it, and panic started to bubble. I was leading Ferelden to war. Me. Alistair the nobody.

Sweet Maker, what a ridiculous situation.

_You can do it._ Kiann's thought was faint, tired, but there.

I snorted, figuring that got across my opinion of my abilities well enough.

"That's a sodding lot of soldiers," Oghren said.

I glanced down at the dwarf, where he stood beside my horse, and blew out a breath as I nodded in agreement. A quick mental calculation told me my army and the Orlesians' likely numbered about the same, but they had more heavy cavalry, a greater percentage of troops with heavy, high-grade armor, and mages. What the Fereldans lacked in gear, I knew we would make up in heart, but, Maker, the odds were not good. And this was the best of our forces. If we failed here, I might as well swear fealty to Empress Celene.

Some of my doubt must have shown on my face, for Fergus cleared his throat and spoke from his mount on the other side of me. "We will prevail, your Majesty."

My jaw tensed. Right. We would, because to do otherwise was unthinkable. I might not have known my father, but I'd be damned if I was going to dishonor his memory by handing our country back to the bastards who'd enslaved us less than forty years after he'd beaten them.

_See? And you doubted me._ Kiann's faint thought held amusement and encouragement._ I know you, Alistair, more now than ever before, possibly better than you know yourself. You are worthy. You can do this. You will be the reason Ferelden remains free._

"No pressure," I muttered, dipping my head. I took a deep breath, drawing on the fortitude the Chantry had taught me. As much as I might despise the organization now, I couldn't fault the skills I'd learned from it. They were as useful as ever.

Centered, I looked up at Fergus, then let my eyes travel to each of the heads of my armies: Oghren of the Wardens, Vartag Gavorn of the dwarves, Lanaya of the Dalish, Greagoir of the Templars, Fergus, General Rolan of the King's Army. I had yet to see Zevran or his Crows, but that did not concern me; I trusted his word, as strange as that sounded, and I knew he would be here when he was needed. All of them--they were here because they believed in me. Because they'd believed and loved Kiann enough to stand beside me as we strove to punish those responsible for her fate.

I was King. And I would not let them down.

"I'll address the troops."

Without another word, I nudged my horse to move out of formation and down the gentle slope to where the majority of my soldiers waited. As I'd planned, the Dalish manned the bluffs on either side of the field; mabaris and foot soldiers filled this side of the grassy plain, and the cavalry was farther to the rear. We had a solid strategy. We would succeed. There was no other option.

My steed stepped lightly before the front line, picking up his heels almost as though he knew how importance appearance was. I kept him to a brisk walk and made sure I met random soldiers' eyes as I passed.

"Soldiers of Ferelden!" I began. "Humans, elves, dwarves. Many of you remember the last time we gathered like this, a short five years ago. We stood united to defeat the darkspawn horde, and defeat it we did! One woman was responsible for that unity. My wife, Kiann Theirin, known then simply as The Warden, worked tirelessly to bring us together in Ferelden's greatest time of need. She should be standing at my side today, in Denerim, continuing to rebuild our great nation! But because of fear and prejudice and treachery, she lies instead comatose, near death, and we march to war."

I swung my arm at the army facing us and let forth the anger that had dwelled within me since discovering Kiann's battered body. "The bastards we face across the field are the same ones my father tossed out of Ferelden not even forty years ago. The Chantry was the instigator of this, not us. Empress Celene and the Divine think to retake this land under the guise of an Exalted March, because we dared to allow a mage to be Queen. Only a few short weeks ago, the leaders of this nation unanimously supported my appeal to have my wife join me in ruling the nation. And yet, the Chantry would not bow to the will of the people, instead conspiring to murder the Hero of Ferelden! Who are they to decide that Kiann, a woman who has given up so much for her country, is not worthy to help lead it? Who are they to decide what is best for our nation?" I let my eyes roam from soldier to soldier, settling on them for a handful of second before moving on. "We are free! We do not answer to overlords from foreign soil. _We_ shall decide what is best for our land and our people. We shall guide our land as we see fit. _And we will not bow just because they say we should!_"

I jerked the reins and dug my heels into my horse's sides, and was rewarded as he reared slightly and leaped forward. "Let us show these would-be invaders why Ferelden was the only nation to defeat a Blight in a few short months instead of decades. We shall triumph, because we must, and because we didn't fight back the darkspawn only to lose our land to the Orlesians once more. For Ferelden!" I roared. "_For the Mage Queen!_"

Cheers and shouts greeted the end of my speech, weapons clanging on shields in approval and support. I turned to face the enemy, my eyes narrowed as I evaluated them and readied myself to give the order that would officially start the battle.

Underneath everything, I heard a quiet, _I love you, my King._


	14. The Battle

**The Battle**

I was not allowed to fight. My jaw was clenched as I watched the battle from a safe distance, channeling orders through messengers to the generals on the front lines. I ached to be a part of it; not because I hungered for battle, but because I did not want my people fighting this fight without me. They battled for my wife, and I sat at the rear, impotent. Intellectually, I understood it—Cailan had died on the front lines at Ostagar and his death had thrown the country into chaos, so naturally Fergus and Oghren wanted to ensure I did not meet the same fate. My heart, though, was rarely one to listen to reason.

Picking up on my agitation, my horse danced a few steps to the side. I glanced at Fergus on his own mount to my right. Oghren and the other Wardens had waded deep into the battle, and I had no doubt they would play a significant role in our victory. If we won.

_We will._ I wasn't sure if the whisper in my mind was mine or Kiann's.

"Your counsel?" My eyes lingered on the Teyrn for a moment as he watched the field.

Crow's feet had etched themselves into the skin at the corners of his eyes, I noticed. He wasn't that much older than I was, but he seemed to carry the weight of centuries on his shoulders. His losses had changed him, aged him. I supposed the same could be said for me, to some extent. I already knew I wasn't the same man I'd been a month ago.

"Give the cavalry leave to attack as they please, your Majesty," Fergus suggested. "It might help to compensate for our fewer numbers of knights."

I nodded to the messenger standing at the ready. "Pass that order to the generals, lad."

"Yes, your Majesty!" The messenger-Maker, he couldn't be more than twelve-dashed off, and another lass took his place at my elbow.

My eyes swept over the battlefield, taking in the fallen forms. At this distance, they were faceless. I'd never know what they all looked like, but I would do my damnedest to ensure they were remembered.

"What do you think?" I asked, my voice low.

"It's too soon to say," Fergus said softly. I looked at him to see his brow furrowed intently. "We're too evenly matched."

"Well, at least the Maker isn't giving them any advantage over us, despite this being an Exalted March, eh? You'd think he'd be a little more involved in a war fought in His name." A crooked grin stretched my lips, one Fergus readily returned.

Until the ground shook beneath us.

"What the bloody-" I turned back to the battlefield in time to see another projectile explode into my army's ranks, well past the front lines. Mages? No, we'd all but taken out their mages in the first attack, with the remainder being brought down by Dalish arrows. A whistling sound sliced through the air, and I looked up, stunned for an instant to see a giant sphere of…something hurtling at us.

"Scatter!" Fergus leaned over and slapped my horse's rump. My mount darted away, out of the path of the missile. It thundered to the ground behind me, shrapnel pinging against my armor.

"Sweet Maker have mercy," the Teyrn breathed as I rejoined him. "They've got trebuchets! They're will to risk their own men to use them?"

"I guess they figure the benefit outweighs the risks." I tensed my jaw as I searched the horizon for evidence of the siege machines. There-nearly at the wall of the city of Jader. Blast it. We'd never get men that deep before they managed to decimate the army.

_We can do it._ Kiann's voice was quiet, but determined.

"If we had mages, maybe. Something to attack at medium range that would destroy them." My words were vague enough that Fergus could rightfully think they were meant for him.

_We have a mage._ I could feel Kiann's mischievous smile as her presence flared within me. My heels pressed against the horse's flanks without my consent, and suddenly we were racing toward the battle.

"Kiann." I nearly bit my tongue as I bounced in the saddle, out of rhythm, so I focused for a moment on aligning myself with the horse's movements. My name was shouted behind us, but I didn't turn to look for fear I'd lose my balance. "This is insane!"

_Do you have any better ideas?_

"Well…no," I had to admit. "But we don't even know if you can use your magic through me. We never tried it."

_It'll work._

"How do you know?"

_Because it has to._

There was no more time for words. I drew my sword, hacking at soldiers as we barreled past, kicking at others, doing whatever I needed to do to keep from being overwhelmed. Another projectile slammed into the ground behind me, a horrendously loud crash chased by the screams of the injured and dying. I dared not look.

"Are we close enough?" I ground out through gritted teeth.

_Just a little more…_

I roared as a dagger snuck between the plates of my greaves and deep into my calf muscle. Rage flowed through me, and I kicked the soldier who bore the blade in the face, taking an unholy satisfaction in watching his face crumple beneath my boot.

"Bloody damn," I whispered.

_You all right?_

"I'll live." I reached down and pulled the knife from my armor, grunting as a fresh flow of blood stained the gold and silver plate.

_You'd better. There, on that rise. That should be good._

My eyes immediately picked out the rise Kiann had spotted. A grimace twisted my lips as I clasped my heels to the horse's sides again, urging him forward. "What do you have in mind?"

_A few fireballs should do the trick, I imagine._

"And how exactly do you think we're going to be able to do this?" I slashed out with my sword as another enemy soldier approached. "Do you think they'll all just stand of to the side and wait while you summon the strength to use your magic through me?"

_Fireball is not a tough spell, Alistair._ Kiann's mental voice held a tinge of exasperation. _Clear a path. I'll work quickly._

"You're insane," I muttered, running through another opponent. "We both are. You for proposing it, me for considering it."

_Are you done? _

I glanced around. "For the moment."

_Good._

Her presence flared within me, along with something else, something that felt familiar and yet…alien. Her magic? I remembered explaining to her once how templar abilities worked, and she had immediately responded with the analogy that my mana-dampening skills were a type of magic. I hadn't thought so at the time, but feeling her magic and comparing it to what I could do…it was, wasn't it?

It rushed through me, close to the feeling of physical release, but not quite. Almost before it started, it was gone, and I heard an explosion in the distance. Shouting. The soldiers heading toward me stopped and looked behind them, unsure.

_One down,_ Kiann said. Her voice sounded a little tired, but nothing extreme. Best do another before they regroup.

She flared again, and again, firing off balls of flame quickly and accurately. In between her little takeovers, I surveyed the field, evaluating the danger. Confusion seemed to have gripped the ranks of the Orlesian army. They knew we had no mages and they scrambled to determine from whence the magical attacks had come.

Their ranks were about to break. I could see it in the panicked looks of the soldiers as their eyes cast about the field, searching for the source of the magic. "One more, Kiann," I said, a smile beginning to stretch my lips. We were going to do this. We were going to win.

Brilliant white light flashed before my eyes and I flew off my mount, landing heavily on the ground. My lungs refused to work for a moment, the wind knocked out of me, and I struggled to suck in air. I felt Kiann fade, further than she'd been even after she'd tried to take me over physically, as something sapped my energy.

Blast it all. Templars.

I lay on the ground, helpless, as the Orlesian templars approached, their weapons drawn. Bugger it, bugger it…finally my lungs unclenched and I could breathe again, but it was far too late.

"Bind him," one of the helmed men said, his voice tinny. "The Divine wants to speak with him before he's executed."

"Will she be offering tea?" My voice was light, even though I felt nothing of the sort. Kiann—I couldn't feel her anymore. My sword had flown from my fingers, and I couldn't see it. "I mean, that's only the civilized thing to do, right? I'm afraid if she's not offering tea, I must decline."

My foolish words earned me a sword pommel to the temple, and everything went black.

###

My head jerked up before I was even totally aware that I was awake. Tingles of magic coursed through me, fading quickly, and I looked into the face of the person standing next to me. Her long robes identified her as a mage, one with a healing bent, it seemed. My head ached, but it was nothing like the pain I should be experiencing, not after being knocked out by a pommel to the head.

"Thank you." The words were raspy, little more than a grunt, but they would do.

I looked around the tent. I was laying on a sleeping mat, unbound, my armor removed. Whoever had stripped me had left my dignity intact with my leather breeches and linen undershirt. The wound in my leg had been bandaged, and, judging but its itchiness, mostly healed.

Candlelight flicked over me and I sucked in a breath. Had night fallen, then? My gut clenched. Had Ferelden lost? Surely the Orlesian army had pressed their advantage after capturing me and pushed my armies back? Please, Maker, no.

And where was Kiann? I still couldn't feel her. Sweet Andraste, had the templars' holy smites exorcised her from me?

Before I had a chance to ask the mage any questions, the door of the tent was pushed back and a wizened, bent, crone of a woman strode in, flanked by a pair of templars. I pushed myself up to a sitting position. Though her figure looked frail, her movements gave the impression she was anything but. Her steps were sure, for all that she used a cane, and I suspected the cane was more there for show than actual support. Her blue eyes were surrounded by heavy wrinkles, but the orbs themselves were intense and clear, as if they belonged to a much younger woman. Her hair was completely white, but instead of being drawn back into a bun as most older women were wont to do, she'd cut hers short and braided some strands, presumably to help control the unruly mess. I recognized the robes she wore from my Chantry upbringing. Standing before me was the Divine herself.

"The Bastard King awakens," she said. Her voice was at odds with her appearance, much like her eyes and her gait. It was strong and decisive, with a thick Orlesian accent.

"I prefer Warden King, myself," I said, keeping my voice unconcerned. Let her think me a fool. I bent one knee an hitched an arm over it, casually.

"Interesting tactic, hiding your mages," the Divine continued, as if I hadn't spoken. "Smarter than I thought you'd be, that's for certain. But not smart enough to stay protected behind your front lines." She tsked and stopped directly in front of me, just out of reach. Not that I could do much right now, anyway. My hands were free, but I had no weapon. And foolish as she might think me, I wasn't crazy enough to take on two templars and a mage unarmed.

I would bide my time.

"So do you wish to save the remainder of your army, Bastard King?" Those intense eyes narrowed as she regarded me.

I resisted the urge to shout in her face, keeping my expression bland and bored instead. "And how would I do that?"

"By surrendering. By pledging your allegiance to Orlais and the Chantry." She cocked her head, a slight smile curving one corner of her lips. "How did you think this was going to end, lad? Did you really think Ferelden was strong enough to stand against us?"

I clenched my teeth, but just shrugged noncommittally. Damn it. _Think_, Alistair. There had to be some way to save Ferelden. Some way to get me out of this…

Wait. No, that was the answer, wasn't it? In war, victory. In death, sacrifice. Killing the Divine would, at the very least, make the Orlesians scramble a little to replace her. Maybe enough that they gave up on this attack. Here I had the perfect opportunity to land such a blow against the enemy. I wouldn't survive…two templars and a mage would make short work of one unarmored King. But it would be a meaningful death. If I managed to pull it off.

"Kiann," I whispered, low enough that the others in the tent couldn't hear me. I closed my eyes and sought her out. She was my secret weapon in this. If she was still with me. If not…I'd rush one of the templars and grab his sword, and pray the other didn't run me through before I completed my task.

The tiniest flicker ignited beneath my breastbone. I allowed myself a quick image of me kissing her—a goodbye kiss. _Maker, I love you._ Perhaps we'd journey to the His side together, as connected as we were. Maybe, with me beside her, she wouldn't get lost in the Fade again, and we could live out eternity together. That wasn't such a bad thought.

I waited for the flicker to strengthen, but it remained at the same low intensity.

"Your Majesty?" the Divine prompted, her voice laced with condescension.

I opened my eyes and stared at her, putting all of the strength I'd discovered within myself in my gaze. Damn their ambitions. Damn their actions. I was the King, and I would save my country.

"Ferelden," I growled, "will not bow."

I launched myself off the bedroll, calling down a smite on the mage across from me before she could call forth any offensive magic. She flew backward, jerking to a stop against the wall of the tent. The entire flimsy structure wavered but remained standing. I rolled and jumped to my feet, intending to kick the nearest templar and grab his sword from his back while he was distracted. But he was too quick. He'd already equipped his sword and slashed out at me. I darted back, almost far enough—the tip of his blade caught on my shirt and tore it.

My eyes flicked around the room, looking for a weapon, an advantage, anything. The Divine. Could I…kill her with my bare hands? I met her blue, blue eyes for a moment, saw the hatred twisted there, and decided that I could.

I ran forward, ducking beneath the templars' blades, until I reached the hag. The templars wouldn't smite me, not so close to the Divine; she'd be caught in it, too, and at her age it could be a devastating result. I wrapped one arm around her chest, across her collarbone, and pressed her back to me, my right hand gripping the left side of her head. One quick twist would be all it took. Just one quick—

Brilliant light slammed into me once more and I released my grip, staggering back. I didn't fall this time. Somehow, even without my armor, I'd managed to withstand most of the effects of the smite. I shook my head, then looked up, ready to charge the Divine again. So much for my supposition that her templars wouldn't smite me so close to her—

I grunted as cold steel slid through me, unimpeded. The templar's eyes glittered at me through the slit in his helm. He withdrew his sword and I clutched at my stomach instinctively, even as my knees gave way. Warm, sticky blood welled up beneath my fingers.

Damn it. Damn it, no. I couldn't fail at this. Ferelden needed me to succeed. Without me, my country would fall.

Kiann's presence flared under my breastbone, finally, and I felt my lips curve in a self-deprecating smile. Always just a little too late—the story of our lives, it seemed.

_Alistair! No…don't you…don't you dare, Alistair!_

Oh, I wished I could hold her, offer her some kind of comfort instead of empty words. My throat worked, trying to give those meaningless words anyway, but fluid burbled up and stole them away. I fell back, onto my behind, and stared up at the templar advancing on me.

_No. No. NO!_

Kiann flared forth then, stronger than I'd ever felt her presence before. Weakened, I couldn't resist it. I let her come, let her fill me with the light and heat of her spirit. Lightning flickered out from me, cascading over the metal of the templars' armor. They twitched and crashed to the ground, stunned. I fell back a little more, bracing myself on one elbow. My vision had narrowed, darkening at the edges.

_Damn it, Alistair…_ A cooling wave of magic rushed through me, pushing the darkness back. _Thank the Maker Wynne made me learn that one healing spell,_ Kiann said, her mental voice a little breathless.

"How…how did you…" The Divine looked down at me, her ancient eyes wide and disbelieving. "You're no mage."

I spit out the blood that had gathered in my mouth and lifted up my shirt to look at my wound. My skin was smeared with crimson, but it was obvious that the wound itself had closed. There was still internal healing to be done, and I 'd need more magic to be whole again, but I smiled all the same. This…could work for me.

I met the Divine's eyes, my own narrowed. "You're right, I'm no mage. The Maker works in mysterious ways, doesn't He?"

"But…no." She shook her head. "He's left us. He has no hand in the world anymore."

"Then how do you explain this?" I pushed to my feet, my will alone keeping me from swaying. "How was I healed? How could magic come to my defense?" I arched an eyebrow at the Divine. "Perhaps you've got it all wrong. Perhaps Ferelden has somehow managed to gain the Maker's eye. We defeated the Blight alone, after all. And now the Warden King stands before you, unscathed, even when I should be dead." My eyes flicked to a shadow that had entered the tent behind the wizened woman. I gave her a quick nod. "You sleep on it."

A second later, she crumpled to the ground. The shadow moved to the templars and the mage laying motionless. "Don't kill them, Zev," I instructed.

"Your Majesty, you have no sense of fun," the Crow scolded. He shot me a quick, tight smile, then dosed each of the fallen figures with the same poison he'd used on the Divine, I assumed.

"They need to be witnesses," I said. I shook my head slightly as my vision wavered. The strength I'd managed to cobble together from Kiann's healing and my own reserves was quickly dissipating. "I need them to spread the news of what happened here."

"And what, exactly, did happen?" Zev asked, eying the blood soaking my shirt as he approached me.

"As far as they're concerned? A miracle." I smirked at the assassin, then leaned heavily on his shoulder before I fell over. I blinked again, trying to focus on the tent flap leading out into the darkness. "I hope you've got a couple of people with you, Zev, because I'm thinking you're going to have to carry me."

"Alistair, don't you—"

The tent dissolved as I slipped into blackness.


	15. Chapter 15

Alistair the Undying.

That's what the Orlesians called me now. I couldn't help but smile as the ambassador and his entourage bowed and scraped before me. A heavy contingent of my soldiers surrounded them, as well as a few other nobles. Eamon, Teagan, Fergus. Everyone wanted to hear the Orlesian apology in person, it seemed. The words meant little: promises of cooperation, assurances that the people who had orchestrated the attacks on Ferelden had been dealt with (and harshly, from the sounds of it), pledges of ongoing friendship between the two nations. Empty words. It was all a game of appearance; I was beginning to understand that now. But I'd be damned if I'd play along.

"Thank you, Ambassador," I said abruptly, cutting off a very prettily crafted sentence. "You may retire to your quarters for the evening, with my guards—for your safety, of course—and in the morning, we shall escort you back to Orlais. Please give the Empress my regards and let her know that I'll be in touch when we feel we can offer her a more adequate response."

"Of…of course, your Majesty," the ambassador said, his brows twitching as he tried to figure out what I'd meant. I waved a hand at the guards and the dignitaries were led out of the Landsmeet chamber.

Undisguised grins swept over Teagan and Fergus's faces, and even Eamon cracked a bit of a smile. Maybe my way with words would be useful to me in this role, after all.

As soon as the last of the Orlesians left the room, I leapt to my feet. "She here yet?" The question was directed at Eamon.

"They arrived a few minutes ago," he said, falling into step beside me as I exited the room through the rear door. "Wynne and Anders were settling her in your quarters the last I heard."

I nodded, my stomach tight with anticipation. After the battle, when the Orlesian forces began to retreat, neither Oghren nor Fergus would hear anything about taking me back to the Vigil. Though my injury had healed externally there was still a significant amount of internal damage, and they insisted on getting me to Denerim and the healers there. Delays upon delays, and I couldn't really explain why my need to get to Amaranthine was so great. They all thought Kiann dead and it wasn't until we arrived in Denerim that we received news that she was, in fact, still breathing. What more could I say? It sounded odd, even to my ears, and I'd lived with Kiann inside of me. I didn't explain what had happened in the Divine's tent. Perhaps the other nobles were used to me keeping some secrets, since they didn't press me for details.

I saw the difference in their eyes though. I was no longer Maric's bastard son, his mistake. I was Alistair, King of Ferelden, and I'd earned their respect.

My steps quickened as I practically raced down the hall to my quarters. I'd felt only the tiniest pinpoint of Kiann under my breastbone these last days, and I knew the use of magic at the battle had nearly worn her away. I didn't know if there was enough of her left to find her way back to herself. I didn't know if perhaps she had been absorbed into me permanently, lost within me instead of within the Fade. Maker, there was so much unknown about what we'd done, and I couldn't consult with anyone for fear of being branded an abomination.

But none of that really mattered right now. What mattered was getting to Kiann's side.

I thrust open the doors to my chambers and strode inside. I barely spared a glance for Anders and Wynne, focusing instead on the pale, petite form laying in the bed we'd shared for such a short time. Her skin had grown almost translucent, it seemed, nearly as white as the sheets on which she lay. She was thin; her muscles had diminished, leaving her arms little more than skin and bones.

I took a step forward, only to be halted by Wynne's gentle had on my arm. "Alistair..." Her voice trailed off, but I could see what she wanted to say lingering in her eyes.

Kiann would not last much longer. If she could somehow not find her way back, we'd lose her for good.

Wasting no time, I strode the last few feet to the bed and picked up Kiann's hand. "You're here," I whispered. I waited for her presence to flare, for some indication that she heard me, that she knew.

There was nothing.

I squeezed her hand. "Kiann, please." I needed my wife back, my partner. I didn't want to be King without her at my side. She needed to be here with me, to balance out my idiocy with her ability to take any situation and triumph in it.

How was I supposed to do this on my own?

"Alistair, she's not going to wake up." Wynne's voice was soft, full of sorrow. "It's been too long. Her body is giving up, even with her connection to the Fade."

My hand gripped Kiann's convulsively as I struggled to keep my emotions in check. It was never something I was very good at, and when I spoke, my turmoil was evident. "Leave us, Wynne, Anders. Please."

The mages hesitated for only an instant before they cleared the room. I shifted onto the bed, Kiann's hand still clenched in mine, and settled in beside her. My other hand reached up and brushed stray hairs away from her pale, pale skin. Not a necessary gesture, but a comforting one.

"I brought you home," I whispered. "I took too long, though, didn't I?"

_Not your fault, Alistair._

I closed my eyes at the sound of her voice, distant and weak in my mind. "You saved my life," I continued softly. "But I'm not going to be able to save yours, am I?"

A pause, a heavy silence, and I pictured Kiann shaking her head sadly. _I don't think so, my love._

I squeezed my eyes shut, and pressed her fingers to my lips.

_You _can_ do this. You can be king without me. You will be, and you will be a marvelous ruler._ Her voice was tinged with sadness, too, tears she'd never cry. _You have the strength inside of you, you always have._

I didn't say anything. I was starting to see that maybe she was right, maybe I could do this...but it didn't mean I wanted to.

_I'm tired, Alistair. I've never been this tired_. My eyes clenched shut even harder. _I'm ready._

She might be ready, but I wasn't. I would never be. I didn't want to say goodbye, I didn't want to let go of this increasingly tenuous connection we'd forged. I didn't want to give up, damn it all. "Kiann..." My voice gave out, but it didn't matter. She knew what I felt, she knew what I wanted to say.

_All I ask..._ Maker, her voice was even weaker than it had been, her presence less than even the pinprick of light and warmth I'd gotten used to. _Don't live these next twenty-some-odd years in sadness. Find happiness for yourself._

I didn't even want to think of that, not now. "Kiann, please..."

_Alistair, for the Maker's sake, listen to me for once instead of arguing._ A pause, like she was catching her breath. _Don't sit on the throne alone, waiting to join me. Make a family for yourself, my love._

"Don't tell me to do that!"

_Someone has to! You deserve to not be alone. Remember that, please? Alistair, please remember that?_

Her voice was growing more indistinct. I wanted to clutch at her with imagined hands, to hold her tightly to me, but I couldn't. Maker, I wouldn't. But I wished...oh, I wished...

"I'll remember," I promised her, my voice choking.

Then, so softly it might have been the echo of a memory: _I love you. Always._

And the presence of her faded completely. I held my breath, searching for it—and as I did, beside me Kiann took a deep breath. Her head tilted toward me, a soft smile creasing her lips.

My heart swelled. Hope flared. I hardly dared to breathe. Maker, she wasn't gone. She'd just found her way—

Then her eyes closed, and a last, quiet breath left her. She grew still, so still, and I knew.

"I love you, Kiann. I love you." I repeated it again and again, hoping she'd hear it, hoping it would carry her to the Maker's side. She deserved to be there, she deserved that reward after everything she'd done for me, for Ferelden, for Thedas.

She deserved for me to heed her final wishes. Make a family for myself. It wouldn't happen in the coming weeks, or the coming months, but I would remember her words. Her admonition not to sit on the throne alone. She knew me so well, so bloody well—and as much as it hurt right now, it comforted, too.

I wouldn't be following her, not yet. I had tasks still to do, a country to lead. In time, I'd find my way to her side once again, and when I did, I wanted to have tales of living my life, of making my place, instead of just existing. It was the least I owed her, after everything.

Leaning forward, I pressed a kiss to cool lips, then rose from the bed, hands scrubbing over my eyes. Those were thoughts for the future, though.

I pulled my tunic straight, then fortified my shoulders. Now I had to be the King on my own, and tell my nation that its Hero was dead.

_You're the Hero too._ A memory of her voice; it didn't hold the same vibrancy that I'd felt when she'd actually spoken within my mind. Remembered words, flitting past, and I knew that they likely always would. She'd never be truly gone, not when she continued to live in my heart. Not when an entire country remembered what she'd done.

And I would make sure they would not forget the Mage Queen or the Hero. But I would remember the little elf named Kiann, who had risen above horrible events to be who she was. My love, my wife, my partner in all things.

I strode toward the door, prepared and yet unprepared to live without her.


End file.
